The Emperor and the Arsonist
by Yosuke
Summary: The violin teacher Quatre had come to trust turned into an evil man with malicious intent before his very eyes. With his family's fortune and sisters' safety at stake, eight year old Quatre must resolve this nightmare by himself. AU, child abuse, rape
1. Chapter 1

The Emperor and the Arsonist - Chapter 1  
Yosuke  
Rated-R  
Angst/Drama

AN: What's with me and beating small children? Seriously. I've got two Fruits Basket stories where small children are beaten. Do I get off on this or something? Probably. I'm totally into gory deaths and limbs being severed and beating the absolute shit out of people. I lacked that in my childhood, so maybe that's why I love it so much.

Originally this was supposed to take place before Quatre became a pilot or a soldier or disinherited himself from his family, but I made the mistake of beginning the typing process before I rewatched the series. Lo and behold, Quatre didn't even know Iria back then, plus there's no way him and his father could be so... tolerant of each other, even if they were still a family. So this ended up being an AU, much to my disappointment. I'm not a big fan of AUs, but I stuck as close to the GW plotline as I could. There's still OZ and the Colonies and war... I've left Mobile Suits out of this, though.

I know in the English dub, it was written as "Ilia", however I retrieved the name from the GW discs I had, which are all in Japanese with English subs, and because of the whole L vs R thing in the Japanese language, it was written as Iria, so I just took it as that. It's pretty much the same, Ilia and Iria, so don't get your panties in a bunch.

Quatre's other sisters' names are never listed, from what I've researched, so I made up names as I went.

Like I've said before in previous stories, if you're touchy on the subject of child-abuse, you do not have to read. I won't be offended. I'll just stalk you until you do.

ONE more thing… I dunno the currency for wherever they live... so let's pretend we ALL know the currency and I'm just converting it over to U.S. dollars to make it easy. Okeh?

GW not mine.

* * *

The sun was just starting to come up over the green horizon. Light filtered through the bushes and various flowers decorated the entrance where Quatre stood, watching absently the long, dark car pull up in the driveway. He clutched his older sister's hand tightly in anticipation, waiting to hear the words he least wanted to know at that moment.

"I'll be gone for about two months, Iria."

Quatre winced and lowered his head.

"Father, do you really have to leave? Can't you send someone else to do it for you?" Iria, Quatre's sister, inquired politely. Quatre saw their father walk by them, then stop and stand in front of them. He handed a few pieces of paper to the elder one.

"Business is business. And business is important in this family."

"Yes, I know… But two whole months?"

"I'm sorry." The father leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep things together for me here and if you need anything, you have the numbers. They're all on that first paper."

"Yes, Father," Iria nodded. Suddenly, attention fell on Quatre. He knew it. His shoulders stiffened, a lump in his throat and words unable to reach his mind. "Quatre, tell Father goodbye." The boy remained silent. It was, after all, expected. He was only eight-years-old. As distant as his family seemed sometimes, Quatre couldn't help but want to clutch tightly to all that remained. Spoiled? He definitely thought so but just couldn't resist a few last words.

"Don't leave!"

The two seemed rather surprised by the choice of words, staring at the bowed blonde head. It was evident: Quatre was frightened, especially in the current time of chaos, that he would lose him, that something would happen and their father would be killed. He couldn't voice this, no, but it was apparent in the way he said things.

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't either…" their father said quietly, kneeling down. He stared at his son. "But I have to. One day, you'll be doing the same thing and you'll understand why I do this now."

Quatre shook his head. His father smiled then started suddenly.

"I just remembered something!" He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I took the opportunity to hire you a teacher."

Quatre peered up.

"A violin teacher. He's from England. His name is Mr. Caldwell. He's very, very good. He's even been recognized across London for his talents."

_'Just something to keep me occupied from thinking of you,'_Quatre thought solemnly.

"I know you've wanted to learn violin, right? And since I'll be gone, you can be as loud with it as you want! And practice as much as you want! Isn't that great?"

Quatre didn't say anything. Finally, he nodded a little. His father smiled.

"Good. He'll be here tomorrow morning with a violin just for you to practice on. Make sure you treat him nicely."

"Yes, Dad."

"Okay, then." He leaned in and kissed his forehead. "You're the man of the house for two whole months. Do things right." He stood and started walking away. "I'll see you all later!"

"Bye, Father!" Iria waved her hand in big motions, prompting Quatre to do the same. The boy waved small, unable to bring a reaction to the surface as the limousine pulled out of the driveway and sped down the street, out of sight. Quatre sighed and turned to go back inside, his sister following quickly. "Cheer up, Quatre. You get to start taking violin lessons! Won't that be wonderful? I can just imagine you now, winning all those awards and attending all the concerts! People giving standing ovations every night!"

"Please don't patronize me…" the young boy said quietly as he started up the stairs, walking into his room and shutting the door. Iria watched him, then sighed.

"You're growing up too fast, yet not fast enough, Quatre." She crossed her arms and walked into the kitchen. "I can't imagine what it will be like once you take over the estates…"

* * *

It had been hard to sleep that night, which in turn, made it hard to get up in the morning, but the moment Quatre's eyes fell open, he remembered the day's agenda and struggled to get up. It wasn't the fact that his father had gone off to take care of business on another colony… He was used to him not being around. It was the excitement of starting his violin lessons that day that got him up and stumbling out of his bedroom to go downstairs and eat breakfast.

The boy yawned childishly as he approached the stairs, hand reaching for the banister and taking a few timid steps down.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Caldwell."

Quatre snapped up, eyes scanning the downstairs area. From his high point-of-view, he saw two figures in the parlor room. One was a teenage girl, Iria, and the other was a man, not too tall and not too broad with dark hair and a suit on. Mr. Caldwell. Quatre gasped quietly and quickly turned to rush back upstairs and put on some clothes, but Iria's voice caught him.

"Come down, Quatre!"

Drat.

"It's okay, just come on down and meet your new teacher!" Iria called again, motioning to the child on the stairs. The Arab boy took a deep breath and slowly turned back around, stepping downstairs quietly. "Mr. Caldwell, this is my little brother--"

"Quatre Raberba. Your father told me about you," the man said, cutting off Iria and looking at the boy as he approached. "Eight-years-old and already wanting to do something with your life… That's a good trait." He kneeled down and held out a hand to him. "You'll be successful early in life and that's always a good thing. I'm Vincent Caldwell. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Caldwell seemed a little bit taller up close, Quatre thought. He had a rounded belly but by no means seemed overweight. His hair was a very dark brown, shoulder-length and tied behind his head, however Quatre could slightly see a balding spot at the top of his scalp, causing the boy to wonder how old the man was. He didn't look too old... Perhaps in his 30's? Hair loss was genetics, anyway. As Quatre's eyes focused in on smaller features, he found himself embarrassed by his close scrutiny, though he couldn't blame himself. This was the man he'd be stuck with for the next several weeks. He had to identify him _somehow_. He took in his face, noting the small eyes, seemingly lacking any color other than black, and lines folded between his mouth and his cheeks. Overall, he was well-groomed and professional-looking. Even the way he acted was flawless.

Quatre stared at the man's outstretched hand for a long moment, unsure of what to do before finally slipping his hand into the others and shaking it timidly. He stared at their connection. His hand seemed so small compared to the man's larger one. It almost frightened him and he quickly pulled it away. Caldwell laughed.

"I hope to teach you well, Mr. Winner."

"Quatre…" the boy spoke out softly, correcting him. Caldwell smiled.

"Quatre."

"Quatre's easy to get along with," Iria chimed in, walking closer. "He's shy, but he opens up once you get to know him. He's also very obedient. He always does what he's asked to or told to do. He's rarely punished for anything."

"Well, that's good!" Caldwell stood, patting Quatre on the head. "Those are always the best types of students. Which reminds me…" Caldwell turned and walked to a parlor chair he had set his stuff down by. He immediately picked up a black violin case, carrying it over to Quatre. "This is for you. It's just for practice, so be careful with it. I will be needing it back when we've finished basics and you can get your own."

The boy's eyes were wide as he took the case into his arms, staring at it with such admiration. Carefully, he set it on the floor and opened it. His face lit up when he saw the beautiful instrument, red cherry wood and polished to perfection. One of his hands moved timidly to touch it, stroking his fingers down the panel. "Wow…" he breathed out. Impulsively, his hand wrapped around the neck to lift it out of the case.

"No, not yet!" Caldwell stopped him. Quatre looked up. The man was smiling slightly. "It's a policy of mine, forgive me. Students will not play with the instrument until lessons begin. Can't risk breaking it before we even begin, can we?"

"I understand," Quatre nodded, releasing it and closing the case. His smile suddenly returned. "May we start lessons soon?" He seemed purely excited, and Caldwell couldn't help but laugh at the image of such a small boy in his pajamas which were two sizes too big for him so excited, his eyes big and bright.

"We start today, but…" He turned to Iria. "I apologize, but my flight was long. Might I take a moment to use your washroom?"

"Huh? Oh, yes! It's over there to the right." Iria pointed down the hallway. Caldwell nodded to both of them and walked in said direction. When he was gone, the girl looked down at her brother. "You excited?"

"Definitely!" Quatre made little fists and did a little jump of happiness. "I can't wait to learn! I wanna be real good at it!" After a moment, Quatre calmed, then snickered a little.

"What?"

Whispering, Quatre leaned closer. "His accent is funny."

"Quatre!" Iria scolded him but couldn't help but giggle. "… Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

* * *

"I'll be in the kitchen making lunch if you need me. Is sandwiches alright with everyone?" Iria called as she walked out of the parlor room.

"Yes, Miss Iria, that would be just fine," Caldwell called after her, Quatre nodding in agreement. When the door closed, the man turned to Quatre, smiling. "You ready?"

"Yup!" the boy said giddily, clutching the violin case in his arms tightly.

"Then take out the violin… carefully," he added while stepping closer. Quatre delicately placed the case on the ground and opened it, taking out the shiny instrument and holding it up with both hands. "Are you left-handed or right-handed?"

"Right."

"Then you'll be holding the violin with your left hand. Put it like this…" Caldwell kneeled beside him and helped put the violin in the proper position just under his chin and against his shoulder. "Now take the bow…" He reached into the case and took out the bow for the boy, handing it to him and gradually correcting his finger-placement on both hands. "Very good. Remember that, because I don't care to re-teach things."

"Yes, sir." Quatre nodded, memorizing where each finger was and how the instrument was placed against the crook of his neck.

"Do you like it?"

"Huh?" the Arab boy looked up. Caldwell grinned.

"Do you like holding the violin?"

"Y-Yes," he nodded as best as he could, then smiled. "I feel like a violinist already."

"That's good! Whatever you can find inspiration in!"

Lessons began and proceeded until Iria called them in for a lunch-break, then they jumped right back into practice, Quatre more excited and determined than in the beginning. Around 4:00 in the afternoon, Caldwell began to gather up his things. "I shall see you all tomorrow."

"Oh, already?" Quatre half-whined, lowering his violin. "I wanna keep practicing!"

"Rest is good for the soul. I will be here at 10:00 in the morning tomorrow so make sure you're up and ready to practice."

"Yes, sir!" The boy nodded big, putting his violin away and clasping the case shut. Carefully, he waddled over to the man and held it up for him, but Caldwell raised a hand and shook his head.

"No, you keep it for now. I'll take it back once basics are over. You practice on that as much as you like, but make sure to give it a rest every now and then."

Quatre seemed awestruck. His grin widened and he nodded again, hugging the case like it was his best friend. "I'll take good care of it!"

"That's good to hear!" Caldwell bowed to both of them and turned to head for the door. Iria was already there, opening the door for him and closing it behind him. When he was gone, the elder sister turned to look at Quatre.

"You happy?"

"Mm-hm!" Quatre put the case back on the floor and took the instrument out once again. "Can I keep practicing? Mr. Caldwell gave me a book of notes and starter music! I wanna keep playing until I get most of the notes right so I can surprise him tomorrow!" He cradled the violin against his neck and put the bow up to it. Iria smiled.

"Of course, but dinner's at 6:00 and you gotta be in bed by 9:30."

"Thank you!" The boy laughed and ran back to the table where his music book was. Iria could only smile at how happy her brother was, thankful that something was here to keep him preoccupied from worrying over their father… not to mention he had found something to do with his life. If Quatre was happy, Iria was happy. She sighed and walked upstairs to go to her room. Meanwhile, Quatre played well through the afternoon and evening.

* * *

When Caldwell arrived at the mansion again the next day, the teacher decided against practicing right off the bat that morning and chose to talk to Quatre, something the boy wasn't quite used to. He had come running downstairs with his violin and book, ready to play, but was greeted instead with an invitation to the couch in the parlor room to talk. Quatre was naturally a shy boy, never wanting to talk that much, not so much out of fear but out of modesty. When his father talked about him, it was always something good, like how he'd done in school or what achievement he was about to make next. The Arab boy was used to hearing those things and got into the habit of never talking about them… His father did enough of that.

Quatre grimaced on the couch. _'Dad… I haven't thought about him once since Mr. Caldwell showed up…'_He felt a little bad for disregarding his father so easily, but was snapped back to reality when Iria suddenly appeared before him with a juice pouch of some brand and flavor he liked. He thanked her quickly and started drinking it as the girl moved to Caldwell and handed him a cup of coffee.

"Thank you," he said politely as Iria left, then sat down on the couch beside Quatre and sipped his drink. "I was hoping we could talk today, Quatre."

Quatre nodded a little, absorbed in his drink and kicking his feet a little, seeing as his legs didn't reach the ground. The man lowered his drink to his lap and looked at his student.

"You've wanted to learn violin for a long while now, haven't you? Your father said so."

Quatre nodded again.

"Such a good way to use your time… But you've got to understand… It takes a lot of dedication."

Nod.

"You'll have to practice quite a bit… Learn many songs… All scales in all keys… Learn to look at your teacher when he's talking to you…"

The boy nodded instinctively, then shot up and looked Caldwell straight in the eye, determination on his face. Caldwell smiled and nodded.

"That's better." Caldwell sipped his coffee again, then leaned back into the couch. "What made you want to learn violin, Quatre?"

"I don't know… I saw a concert on TV once and I was just enraptured in the violin solos and solis." Quatre sipped his drink again.

"You certainly know big words."

"A rich family comes with an advanced education. I know a lot more words than most kids my age."

"How fortunate," Caldwell commented, nodding. "And you know music terms?"

"One of my sisters tried to force piano on me when I was a little younger. I didn't like it. It didn't seem natural to me… But it did teach me to multitask, though."

"That's good, because violin requires that as well." Caldwell balanced his mug on his knee and held up his arms as if he had a violin in them right then. Quatre nodded and smiled.

"I know… Oh, Mr. Caldwell? When am I allowed to get my own violin? I mean, I can go buy one if you go with me and help me pick out one. I don't just want a practice violin. I want a real, concert violin!" Quatre looked hopeful to him, but Caldwell shook his head.

"Wait until you've perfected basics to mess around with a good one. If you buy an expensive violin, you may break it because you didn't know how to treat in properly."

When Quatre's shoulders slumped, Caldwell took the opportunity to inquire on something that had gotten his attention.

"Quatre… Did you say _you'd_ buy it?"

"Mm-hm," the boy nodded. "Dad gave me an account and now I have money I can spend, but he said I can only use it on useful things."

"Oh… How much?"

"Um, about--"

"Quatre!" they heard a voice shout from the room over. They looked up to see Iria come running in with a dish towel in her hands. "Quatre, honey, can you come here for a second?" She looked at Caldwell. "I'm sorry, do you mind?"

"No, not at all, take your time." Caldwell smiled and Iria quickly ushered Quatre into the kitchen.

"What's up, Iria?" the boy asked innocently, sipping his drink and watching his older sister with wide eyes. Iria sighed and tossed the towel onto the counter.

"Listen, Quatre, did Father ever tell you about the secrecy of your account?"

Quatre shook his head.

"Well, you can't just go around telling people you have money. It's not good for this family. People are out to rob us, you know."

He suddenly seemed a little unsure.

"If you tell people, even ones we know, about our insurance and finances, it could get really bad for us." She knelt down to his eye-level. "How much money do you have as of right now, Quatre? In your account?"

"About $800."

"And how much do we have?"

"I forgot… A lot, I know that much."

"Okay, listen, keep track of your account. You're responsible for that one, you know that. If money starts disappearing, let me know immediately. You make sure you keep your account number a secret or else people will start stealing from us."

Quatre nodded.

"Okay, go back in there and apologize to Mr. Caldwell for me."

"Yes, Iria," Quatre said quietly, pushing open the swing-door and walking back into the parlor room. Caldwell was on the couch, looking down at his hands. He seemed as if he were counting something to himself. "Mr. Caldwell?"

Caldwell snapped up, looking at his student with a smile. "Welcome back."

"Iria says 'sorry'." The boy pulled himself back up onto the couch and finished his drink off. Caldwell nodded and sat back.

"Not at all, Quatre." His face seemed to hold certain euphoria in it. "It's no problem." He leaned forward to pick his mug up and finish off his drink as well, adding up all the figures in his head that he had collected from listening at the kitchen door.

The lesson lasted well until 4:00. Caldwell had meant to leave earlier, but Quatre had begged him to stay just a while longer so he could finish the song he was currently learning to play. It was like that for the next few days as well. Quatre loved the time he got to be taught how to play song after song. In no time at all, he was beginning to conquer the basics. And with all the time left after accomplishing one small tune, Caldwell led him into conversations, mostly about each other, trying to learn more and more about what each person was like, where they came from, what their family was like. Quatre enjoyed it, as did Caldwell as he wrote down every single detail into memory.

On the fifth day of lessons, Caldwell was incredibly impressed. "My, my, Quatre… You certainly are passionate when you wish to learn something."

Quatre nodded happily as he put away his violin carefully, shutting the case and clasps. "I love doing this! It's so much fun!" Casually, he lifted the case by its handle and began to carry it back to his room, but Caldwell quickly stopped him.

"Quatre… Give me the violin."

The boy darted around. "Huh?"

"The violin. I'll be taking my violin back now."

You could visibly see Quatre's heart break through his eyes as he brought the case to his chest and hugged it. "Th-The violin?... B-But, I wanna learn more!"

Caldwell chuckled and walked to him, kneeling down to his eye-level. "I realize that, Quatre, and I will teach you more. You've gone through basics astonishingly well, therefore, I will take the practice violin back so that you may get a real one for yourself."

And just as quickly as it had broken, the little shards of his heart came right back together as a smile adorned his face. "Really???"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I will take you to the store myself. Right now, even!"

"IRIA, I'M GOING OUT TO THE STORE WITH MR. CALDWELL!!! BE BACK LATER!!!" Quatre said before Caldwell could even finish, rushing towards the door and slipping on his shoes at the same time all while juggling the violin case. The man laughed lightly and stood to follow.

"Miss Iria, do you mind at all?"

Iria's head popped out of a door from upstairs. "Not at all! Just be back by 6:00!"

"Will do, ma'am!" And they were off to the music store.

* * *

Those teal eyes had never grown so large in his life as he walked around that small music store. The walls were decorated from corner to corner with instruments of every kind, packed on as tightly as the small space would allow. Immediately, Quatre had zipped to the violin portion of the wall, staring in awe at the beautiful wooden instruments, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "Wow, they're pretty."

"You must really love the violin to be in such an amazed state by simply staring at the instrument itself," Caldwell spoke quietly after walking up from behind the boy. Quatre jumped a little when he heard him speak, then turned to him and nodded.

"I do! I've been fascinated with them for a long time! I love listening to violin music on my stereo," Quatre chimed in and looked back at the wall. "Which one is best to get?"

"Well…" Caldwell began, crossing his arms and looking with interest down at the boy, the interest not so much as in what he was talking about but what lurked in the back of his mind. "…How much money do you have?"

Quatre fell silent at that. He didn't even look at his teacher. He just put his hands in his pockets and continued to examine the violins on the wall. "I can buy it on my own, Mr. Caldwell. I'll pick one out by myself." Just to be safe, Quatre walked towards the wall and began to check out the cheaper instruments. Caldwell only stared at the blonde boy, then sighed and smiled.

"Whatever you choose, Quatre. In all honesty, the best choice would be to pick a not-as-expensive one. If you break a costly violin, you'll be upset over it."

Quatre nodded deftly in agreement and let his eyes wander to the violins hanging in the middle row. His piqued interest in the quality, price, and color of the violins became merely a disguise for the real worrisome thoughts traveling in his mind. Mr. Caldwell... certainly did ask about Quatre's money a lot. If not Quatre's, then the family's fortune. He grew scared. Was Caldwell trying to get his money? Was the teacher thing just a facade? But he mentally shook his head. 'No, that's wrong... Mr. Caldwell is a nice man with true dedication to me and my musical education. He wouldn't do something too crazy, especially when he's so well-known!'

His frame gradually tensed, suddenly scared just to be there with him. Praying that the man was innocent and wouldn't try to take anything from him, Quatre's eyes fell on a violin that satisfied all his requirements and pointed to it eagerly. "I want that one!" It was a beautiful oakwood violin, painted a soft red and polished until it shimmered in the light. Hand carved with delicate design, and the pricing was decent for the budget Quatre had. He smiled even bigger when the store owner walked to it and carefully lifted it from its holder. Gingerly, he gave it to Quatre, who seemed scared to touch something so remarkable. Clasping it lightly, his eyes raked over the flawless instrument, nodding his head. "Yeah, it's perfect!"

"I'll get its case, then," the owner said lightheartedly and walked in the back room for the set. As he did, Caldwell stepped forward and asked to see it. Quatre carefully handed it to him, watching as the man held it up to the light, weighing it in his hands, then placing it under his chin as if he were about to play it. He smiled, approval apparent in his eyes.

"A good choice, Quatre. Excellent eye you have there." His gaze fell to Quatre, who went from excited to unsure, and quickly looked away.

"I need to go pay now..." Quatre quietly took off for the front, where the store owner joined him shortly with the whole violin set. From afar, Caldwell watched in delight as the boy laid out for him the very means he used to pay for the violin without even realizing his teacher was watching.

The car ride back was silent, Quatre wading in unvoiced worry and confused emotions. His small arms clung to his violin case viciously as if it would save him come any trouble. Caldwell was quiet as well, only peeking out of the corner of his eye every now and then to look at the boy and inwardly smirk. When they made it to the house, Caldwell nodded his head, smiling in his regular gentlemanly fashion and giving Quatre a little wave. "Go ahead and get used to that violin. Don't play it too much. You don't want to break it."

Quatre nodded.

"I will see you tomorrow. And when I come back, you had better know the first part of _Adagio_."

Again, Quatre nodded. Without even looking at him, the boy slid out of the car and waddled to the front door of his home. Glancing once over his shoulder at the car as it pulled away, he shuddered and quickly walked in. Immediately, he was greeted by Iria. "Quatre! Did you get a violin??"

"Yeah..." he said solemnly, setting the case on the ground and opening it carefully. The instrument shone in the light, and Iria's eyes glittered.

"It's beautiful, Quatre! Did you pick it out all by yourself?"

"Yes..."

"Was it expensive?"

"Not really..."

"...Do you not like it?"

Quatre looked up, obviously not interested in his new violin, his eyes holding heavy thoughts in them that Iria noticed immediately. Her expression grew to worry.

"Quatre, honey? What's wrong?" She knelt down, holding his shoulders. The boy's blonde head dropped a little, somewhat ashamed and closed the case and its clasps. He said nothing. Iria scooted the case to the side and moved more in front of him. "Quatre, what's the matter? Did something happen? If you don't like the violin, we can take it back and get a different one..."

"No, I love this violin..." Slowly, the teal eyes turned up to her. "I'm just a little scared."

"Of what?" Iria became more and more worried. "Were you thinking about Father?"

"No, I meant about Mr. Caldwell."

"Why's that?"

The shame was growing. "I think... He's not very good."

"Huh?"

"I think he wants my money...." The head dropped again, hands fisting in his pants. The girl immediately recognized what he meant and moved to hug him.

"Quatre... Don't worry. It's okay. He can't take the money. He doesn't know how." After a moment, she pulled back and looked at him. "Honey... Do you want me to hold onto your account for you? Just for the time being?" Quatre looked up. Iria smiled. "Just to be safe... I won't take anything out of it, I promise. If you're scared he'll try to steal from you..."

"Yeah..." Quatre nodded, averting his eyes. "If you... don't mind.... I'm just a little unsure right now."

"It's no problem. Give me the stuff for your account and I'll hold onto it until your lessons with Mr. Caldwell finish, okay?"

"Alright." Quatre reached into his pocket and slowly handed the booklet to Iria, who took it and put it carefully in her own pocket. Then she hugged him again.

"Dinner's ready. Let's go eat." She stood, taking Quatre by the hand, who followed silently into the dining room.

* * *

CHAPTER 1 - End

AN: Coming up in the next exciting installment of... THE EMPEROR AND THE ARSONIST... Quatre discovers Caldwell is actually a double agent sent by the government to protect him from an army of humanoid robots, of which their leader is his own sister, IRIA!

I hope you didn't actually believe me... though I admit it probably would've made this story a little bit more exciting than "Waaah, daddy went away and my violin teacher is scawwy! Waaah!" It gets better, I promise... Please keep reading, and review... or I shall curse you with a curse.


	2. Chapter 2

The Emperor and the Arsonist - Chapter 2  
Yosuke  
Rated-R  
Angst/Drama

AN: Prepare yourself, this chapter starts out with a bombshell.

* * *

Lessons started promptly the next day at 10:00 in the morning, as they always had. Quatre had practiced quite a bit the night before on his brand new violin, and was pleased to play almost all of _Adagio_ for Mr. Caldwell, who praised him highly for his accomplishment, saying _Adagio_ was not that easy to play, but Quatre did it superbly. That made Quatre happier than anything, seeming to forget all his troublesome thoughts about his teacher and mindlessly play well through the afternoon, when Caldwell, deciding it was good time to take a lunch break, asked to see the garden. That surprised Quatre a little, seeing as the man had never asked to view any part of the home before, but he gladly gave him the tour, happy that the time of year had brought fully bloomed blossoms and roses to every corner they turned. The yard extended for quite a distance, making the walk long and pleasing, as the two of them talked about various things.

They approached the fountain in the center of the yard, shielded by many walls of foliage the gardeners had so carefully constructed. The boy ran happily to the water, leaning over the stone edge and putting his hand in it, delighted at the chill. "I love this spot the most. No one can see me from here, so I get to be alone when I want." He took his hand out and shook the water from it. Caldwell nodded, moving to sit on the edge and looking up at the sky.

"Quatre... you truly enjoy the violin, don't you?"

"Yup!" Quatre's smile held all the happiness and innocence a boy of his age could possibly have. "The music is so beautiful... I can't wait until I become a professional!"

"Nor can I," the man said, looking down at the blonde head. "I plan to teach you until you can play that whole music book once without a single mistake... Think you can do it?"

"Yes, sir!" The boy stood straight and saluted.

"And when I leave, what will you do?"

Quatre went silent. "What will I do?" He gave it some thought for a moment before shrugging. "I guess I'll keep practicing. I'll go get more music books and keep playing. I'll see if maybe I can join a symphony or an orchestra... What do you think I should do?"

"Me?" Caldwell smiled, pretending to give it a long hard thought before looking back down at his student. "I have a pretty good idea." Slowly, he knelt down and grabbed the boy's arm. The look in his eyes grew dark, and Quatre once again grew afraid. "What you'll do... is stay silent and do exactly as I say."

Quatre's eyes widened.

"If you scream or run, I'll catch you, then I'll go inside and I'll hurt your sister. You don't want that, right?"

"W-What are..."

"No one can see us from here, so there's no point in hoping someone will come save you, you troublesome brat." His grip tightened, hurting Quatre, who squeaked in discomfort. "Now, what you'll do... is give me the information for your account."

Quatre tried to take a step back, but Caldwell forced him closer. The boy began to tremble. "I-I don't have it..."

"Nonsense! I saw you use it yesterday!"

"I don't have it!"

Caldwell grew silent, watching the boy's shaking teal eyes. He smiled a little. "Alright then. If you wish to be so hard about it... I'll just go get your lovely sister. I'm sure, with a little coaxing, she'd be pleased to give me all the information..."

"No!"

"Want I should hurt her? I know the most wonderful ways in human torture, boy, you just don't know it. I can break every single one of her fingers until she can't possibly clasp that booklet anymore."

"No!"

"Or..." His smile widened. "Should I rape her? Or do you even know what that is?"

"No!! Stop it!" Quatre struggled against his grip, terrified at the idea of this evil man doing such horrible things to his sister, his beloved sister who had done nothing to deserve this. Caldwell grinned and raised his other hand to grasp at the boy's blonde locks, yanking him closer.

"Now, you listen... You'll go get those papers, and you'll not say a word to anyone about it. If you do, I swear to God, I will hurt you, I will hurt your sister, and I will corrupt your family in ways you can't even imagine."

Tears leaked from Quatre's eyes, who remained still so as not to hurt himself further.

"You will do as I say, Quatre... Understand?"

Carefully, slowly... Quatre nodded.

"Good..." Caldwell released him, sending the boy flying backwards. His wickedness disappeared as he stood, giving his normally bright smile to his student. "Now, then, I think lunch break is about done. Shall we resume our lesson?" Whistling, acting as if nothing had happened, he made his way back through the garden to the house, expecting the child to follow. Quatre, sobbing and lost, wiped at his cheeks with the backs of his sleeves and stood to follow, unsure of what to do, how he got himself into this mess, and how he could possibly get himself out.

It was too difficult to stay on task after that... Quatre was scared out of his mind. He wasn't quite sure what to do anymore, and with Caldwell's unmoving eyes burning into the boy, Quatre felt like was trapped in a small room, being videotaped as he was played like a doll. Quatre could do nothing to defy his teacher now. He was just a puppet, and Caldwell held the strings. If Quatre didn't do exactly as the man asked, the doll would be dropped and the stage burnt to the ground. Quatre was terrified. It made lessons extremely difficult, but more than anything hard to swallow. Caldwell had no interest in teaching Quatre anything. All he wanted was the money. That was the point right from the start. The lessons were just a facade, and Quatre had stupidly fallen right into it. And worse yet, he couldn't calm his heart. The thing pounded mercilessly in his chest, his hands trembling with fear as he stood not even five feet from the man he once called "teacher". On the inside, he was crying... hard. He was lost and scared, unsure of what to do and only blindly obeying whatever the man said. But he had to keep strong on the outside and never let anyone, especially Iria, know. His father had said it himself: "You're the man of the house now". That meant he had to act like it, and taking this matter into his own hands was the only thing he could think to do to follow what his father had ordained.

He sobbed inwardly. _'Dad... I'm so sorry.... I messed up.... I messed up real bad...'_

His heart ached.

_'I... I'm so sorry...... It's all my fault....'_

The session ended soon after, Caldwell gathering his things and smiling pleasantly down at the boy in front of him. "I'd say we progressed quite a bit today! Don't you agree, Quatre?"

The child said nothing. He didn't even make eye contact.

"Well, when I come back tomorrow, you had better know _Ave Maria_. Alright?"

No response. Caldwell nodded.

"Good. And..." Slowly, he knelt down until he could whisper in the boy's ear. "I expect to see the booklet by the end of tomorrow. If not, your sister's face won't be so pretty anymore."

Quatre shuddered, stepping away. Caldwell grinned and rose to his feet.

"Very well. Miss Iria!" He turned, calling for the teenager, who promptly appeared from out of the kitchen. "I'll be taking my leave now. Please, you must hear Quatre play sometime. He's become so much more... cooperative with his lessons. It's truly impressive to hear him play when all eyes are one him."

"I guess I will soon!" Iria commented, shining her usual smile towards the man. "Thanks for coming, Mr. Caldwell. I'm making a pie tonight. If you'd like, I'll save you a piece for tomorrow."

"That would be wonderful, Miss Iria!" Caldwell nodded his head. "I can't recall when I last had a good home baked sweet. I'll bet yours will taste delicious." He said this as he turned, and unbeknownst to Iria, gleamed a dangerous smile to Quatre, suggesting just what he had meant by that statement. Quatre shivered and gathered his things, running upstairs quickly.

"Quatre!" Iria called after him. Hearing his door slam, Iria scratched the back of her head and gave an apologetic look to the older man. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him... He might be stressed from so many lessons."

"I understand, but he'll have to come to learn that I'll be here until he's learned fully." Caldwell walked to the door. "Your father, Mr. Winner, is paying me, after all."

"I'm glad he is," Iria commented, holding the door for him. "It's nice to get honest men like you to hold such a promising career."

"Quatre is quite promising himself." Caldwell stopped and turned to her, smiling big. "I expect much from him.... And these lessons should prove quite fruitful."

Quatre heard the door close all the way from up in his room as he curled up on his bed, hiding under the sheets as if to escape the unseen terror lurking in his mind. Caldwell was an evil man... Even when he wasn't there, Quatre was scared. Blindly, his hands groped around for his pillow until he managed to bring it under the sheets so he could rest his head on it. Being alone with Caldwell had been scary... Perhaps one of the most terrifying moments of his life. His life was in danger, as was Iria's. The family's money... would disappear after tomorrow. And it would be all Quatre's fault. He'd be the downfall of his own family. Trying hard to fight it but failing, the boy began to cry, letting his strong shield crumble for just that moment when no one could see him. Letting out this weakness... would make room for strength, strength Quatre had to have if he wanted to figure a way out of this.

His eyes opened, half-blinded by tears. _'The numbers... I'll change the numbers!'_ His tiny fists clenched the fabric of the pillow tightly. _'It's not too hard to scratch off some of the ink on the papers... All I have to do is rewrite a few numbers and he won't know what to do!'_

....Slowly, that hope crumbled like his strength had.

_'And how well will that work? He'll see right through it. It's easy to scratch off ink, but hard to cover up the scratch marks on the paper....'_

Quatre sighed, closing his eyes again. He'd have to think through all his ideas, every possible one to get himself out of this mess, or at least delay it for another day....

* * *

The doorbell rang cheerfully throughout the mansion's front rooms, catching faintly in Iria's ears as she stood from her seat in front of the computer. "Oh, that must be Mr. Caldwell." Shutting off the monitor, she walked quickly to the door, opening it and revealing Caldwell, standing tall and happily as he usually was.

"Miss Iria, good morning!"

"Hello, Mr. Caldwell!" She stood back, allowing the man to walk in as she shut the door behind him. "You're a little early today!"

"Oh, I apologize. I just couldn't wait to see if Quatre had gotten his current project down. Speaking of which... where is the young lad?"

"Oh, probably still asleep. From what I heard, he was up pretty late last night. I'll go get him." Quickly, Iria took off upstairs. Caldwell watched her take off in the direction of Quatre's room... He stood for a moment.... and then Iria came rushing back down. She looked panicked. "O-Oh, Mr. Caldwell, I apologize deeply, but... Quatre's sick."

Caldwell's eyebrow quirked. "Sick, you say?"

"Yes, he's so ill he didn't even make it out of his room in time... if you know what I mean... He has a fever and can't seem to get out of his bed!"

The man remained silent for a moment, suspicious of the explanation but finding no ground to tread upon to accuse her of lying. Sighing, he politely tipped his head. "I see... Well, perhaps tomorrow then."

"I'm very, very sorry... I'm sure he'll be okay tomorrow. I'll give you a call if anything changes."

"Yes, please do," Caldwell said calmly as he walked to the door. "Give him my best wishes, then."

"I will. Thank you for understanding." She watched him walk out, slowly closing the door behind him.... She sighed, almost in relief, then quickly rushed upstairs again. As she walked into her younger brother's bedroom, she noted the mess on the floor and the bundle curled up under the sheets. Shaking her head, she walked to his side and poked his rear end. "Up, kiddo."

"...I'm sick."

"No, you're in trouble. Father won't be happy when he finds out you spilled sweet potato casserole and paint on the floor."

"...Are you mad?"

"No, just confused."

"...Is he gone?"

"Yes, Quatre." Iria sat down on the bed and touched her brother's shoulder through the sheets. "Quatre, what's wrong? Why didn't you want to have lessons today?" Iria seemed genuinely concerned. "Do you still think Mr. Caldwell is trying to take your money?"

Quatre wanted to answer to that... so bad. He wanted to tell her everything and ask her to make it all better, but it wasn't like a knee-scrape you could just kiss away. This was big, and it was the boy's problem. Just his. To drag his sister into it would be selfish and cowardly. So, reluctantly and against every childlike scream inside of him crying for help, he slowly shook his head. "No... No, I'm just embarrassed to see him... because I thought that...."

The girl's eyebrows raised. "Embarrassed? Honey, that's no reason to skip lessons!" When Quatre gave no response, Iria shook her head sadly. "Okay, Quatre, but just this once. No more skipping lessons. Father _is_ paying for them, after all."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Okay, then.... Now, you're gonna clean up this mess, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Okay, then, get to it!" Iria smacked his bottom sharply and walked out of the room, leaving Quatre whining and calling her names.

The day was long and torturous. All Quatre could think of was his impending doom, and that little black booklet sitting in Iria's room, _his_ little black booklet that contained the numbers to access his bank account. If he gave that to Caldwell, then the family would go bankrupt... but on the other hand, no one would get hurt. If he _didn't_ give Caldwell the booklet... who knew what would happen? Quatre did... Iria would get hurt. Quatre would, too. Caldwell could very well destroy the whole home if the boy refused. It was all Quatre could think of all day. Caldwell didn't leave his thoughts for a moment. That devilish grin, those piercing eyes, the evil figure itself... Caldwell had him in the palm of his hand, and Quatre was very much trapped, being played like a doll. These thoughts kept him up for a good part of the night, and when he awoke the next morning, all he felt was dread. Caldwell would be there any second... Quatre had a decision to make: Give him the money and save his sister's life, or save the family's money and risk losing his sister.

This decision... was far too big for an eight-year-old to make.

* * *

Small footfalls could be heard coming down the stairs. Caldwell heard it immediately, his eyes shooting up to see the boy hesitantly make his way downstairs. He lifted himself up from his seat and walked towards him, putting his hand on the banister. "Hello there, Quatre. Are you ready to play?"

Quatre, who lugged the heavy violin case in one hand and his music book and stand in the other, nodded timidly. "Yes..."

"Do you have everything?"

"Yes."

"_Everything?_"

"....Yes."

Caldwell smiled as if giving him praise for a song he'd completed magnificently. "Good boy. Let us begin, then." He held out his hand, motioning for Quatre to hand over the music book, which he knew contained what he wanted. Quatre hesitated, not moving from his spot, staring in fear for a moment before taking the last few steps down the stairs and walking slowly into the parlor room. Without looking at his teacher, he placed the violin case on the couch, set up his music stand, and reluctantly handed the music book to Caldwell, who took it appreciatively. "Now, then," Caldwell began, taking the book and opening it up. "Where to begin..." He stopped when he opened up to the first page to find a poorly drawn face on it, made with a black permanent marker. It was probably supposed to be Quatre. The character's tongue was stuck out with a mean look on its face. Words beside the head read, _"In your dreams, you pompous asshole!"_

Caldwell's eyes immediately held rage in them, staring with such fury down at the boy, whose own face held spite in it. Blinded by anger, the man reached back a hand and slapped Quatre across the face, sending him to the floor. "Someone needs to learn where his place is," the man hissed, hand still poised in the air from the strike. Quatre, near tears, rubbed his cheek.

"I was about to say the same thing... I'm thinking the gutters in England, where you probably came from."

Caldwell cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow twitching. "Don't really know how to watch your mouth, do you? Have you forgotten who holds your sister's life in his hands?"

"Yeah... Me." Quatre climbed back up to his feet, challenging him directly. "I'm responsible for her. I'm the man of the house now. And if I screw this up, she's in trouble."

"Then I suggest you behave." Caldwell leaned down and grabbed the boy's chin in his hand tightly. Dark, black eyes met teal ones in a fit of anger, a sudden staring contest escalating to trying to burn holes into each other's skulls. After a while, Caldwell scoffed. "I can hurt her, you know. Should I?" He leaned in closer. "Her body looks perfect... I know. I can see it bathed in red. She won't be the same, pure, innocent flower your father left behind here. I can rip her to pieces. And I can do the same to you." His fingers dug into Quatre's cheek. "Ready to cooperate?"

Quatre spit in his face.

Caldwell stood slowly, releasing the boy. His hands went to his inside coat pocket to pull out a handkerchief and wipe away the mess. Coughing, he put away the napkin and stared down at the defiant child before him. Quatre raised his chin, tightening his fists, ready for anything. Caldwell smiled a little, his usually jovial smile… then shot his arm down to catch the boy by the neck. Quatre's little hands grasped at Caldwell's, trying with all his might to pry the fingers off of him, but the man didn't let up, slowly tightening more and more. Quatre gasped for air, his eyes widening, his face turning red.

"Now, you disgusting brat, listen well," Caldwell began. "I am going to make your life absolutely miserable until you decide to give me that booklet." Caldwell's other hand fisted in the boy's hair. "Or, if you prefer, I can get it myself. It's in your sister's room, right?"

Quatre, against the threat of asphyxiation, scowled. "Don… you… dare…"

"Then give me the booklet." He threw him down, watching with satisfaction as Quatre hit his head on the frame of the couch.

"Quatre!"

Caldwell shot up, looking around him as Iria popped out from the next room. She walked over, her purse swinging from her shoulder. Quickly, Quatre shot up, rubbing his neck and trying to look as if nothing happened. Iria smiled when she saw them. "Quatre, I'm going out shopping. Do you mind staying here for a little bit? I'll be back before Mr. Caldwell leaves." She smiled at Caldwell, who politely nodded in response.

Quatre didn't smile… He hardly even moved. Tentatively, he began to say something, but a capturing glare from Caldwell silenced him, and he hung his head. "Have a good time, Iria."

His sister noted the boy's expression, becoming a little worried. "Honey, I'll stay if you want. I can wait until later."

"No, I'm just disappointed…"

"Why?"

"You're not offering to buy me anything," Quatre lied, trying to look joking with her. She smiled and shook her head.

"How about a pony and a pet tiger?"

"Sounds good." Quatre smiled big. Iria laughed and reached over to scuff his hair.

"I'll stop by Africa and see if they have any in stock. Mr. Caldwell, would you like anything?"

Caldwell grinned. "Do give my regards to the tribes."

"Will do." Iria beamed a smile as she began walking out. "See you guys later! I'll bring home some dinner!"

"Farewell!" Caldwell waved as she exited, then turned to Quatre again. He was still smiling. "Are you ready, dear little Quatre?"

The Arab boy looked up, his smile gone.

"You're in for a world of pain."

It wasn't even three hours later that Iria came home, three large department store bags in her hands and a satisfied smile on her face. Juggling the bags, her purse, and her keys, she walked into the parlor room to find it empty. Cocking her head to the side, she looked around. "Quatre? Mr. Caldwell?" No reply. "Where are you guys?"

She heard a door slam. Her attention drew to the next room over, where she had heard the sound. A moment later, little Quatre came running through, a hand over his neck as he rushed past Iria without so much as a "Hello" and ran upstairs. Iria stared in surprise.

"Quatre! Come back here!"

Caldwell entered a moment later, wiping his hand with his handkerchief and tucking it away in his pocket. "Well, hello Miss Iria. Back so soon?"

"What was... wrong with Quatre?" Iria seemed very concerned, but Caldwell waved it off as if it were nothing.

"No worries, dear. He's simply frustrated that he cannot seem to get a passage in the sheet music right. Do encourage him later, will you?"

"...Yes." The girl looked back to the stairs, hoping her little brother would come rushing back down, but he never did. Sighing, she hoisted the bags in her hands a little higher. "Well, I'm going to put my stuff up. I'll go tell Quatre to come down."

"Oh, no. Don't worry about it." The man smiled cheerfully, running a hand over his hair. "Today's lessons are done. I've assumed he's too tired to continue. Rest is good for the body. I'll end it for today."

"Oh... Well, okay. Thanks for coming by." Iria smiled and nodded her head as Caldwell passed by to walk out the door. Once he was gone, her smile disappeared. "What's wrong with you, Quatre?" she sighed quietly to herself.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Quatre fought back the tears that threatened to run down his cheeks as he wiped away the blood that was spilling from a cut on his neck. The wound wasn't close to his jugular, thank goodness, but was cut deep enough to make the blood flow to his head uneven, therefore making him quite dizzy. Breathing somewhat heavy, he threw the washcloth he'd used to clean himself into the clothes bin, grabbed a box of bandages, and wrapped them around his neck. No... Iria would still see them. Wobbly, he rushed back into his bedroom and quickly found a turtleneck shirt. This would have to do, despite the hot weather outside. Carefully so as not to damage himself further, he slid the shirt over his head, huffed a little, and passed out on his bedroom floor.

* * *

Iria eventually found out about the cut... When Quatre kept wearing turtlenecks around the house, the girl became very suspicious and demanded the boy take off his shirt.. Reluctantly, he did, and Iria was in shock. When asked what happened, Quatre merely said he was running outside and fell on a rock in the garden. "The cut would be broader and not as long. Not to mention, if you had fallen at that angle and cut yourself there, you'd be dead," was Iria's response, but the moment the boy began to cower away, eyes falling to the ground and embarrassment surfacing once more, Iria decided to let it go for the moment. "I want answers later, young man." And she left him at that, knowing he'd confess in good time.

Good time... When would this good time be? After Caldwell got the account information? After he started stealing money right from underneath their noses? Right after Iria and the rest of the family found out it was Quatre's fault and he was to blame? Would this cut seem so significant then?

This was nothing... compared to the hell they were about to go through. Quatre couldn't hold off Caldwell forever. That money would be gone, and Quatre had no way out of it. That night, Quatre cried himself to sleep.

The next day was just as torturous as the last. Caldwell came by again for lessons. This time, he was more careful. This time, he cut Quatre somewhere that wasn't normally visible. He left a long, shallow cut leading from his right shoulder down to his lower left ribs. Quatre tried hard not to cry, but even an eight-year-old couldn't fight back tears when being faced with a knife and a cold grin by a cold man. If Caldwell didn't milk the information from him soon, Quatre was sure to die.

Day after day, the man came by for lessons, forcing the boy to play so as not to raise suspicion, and in between songs, Caldwell would hurt him again. Bruises lined his chest and upper arms. One long cut ran along his belly, underneath the rim of his pants. And above all, Quatre was becoming weaker, both physically and mentally. He couldn't keep it up. He couldn't stave him off forever. But out of a pure childish fear Quatre was ashamed to say he greatly exposed more than he ever wanted to for any reason, he did not want to die. It was human instinct, and Quatre hated it. He'd much rather receive punishment than have his family suffer, but the screaming in his head kept him from giving Caldwell that permission, and time after time, the boy was subjected to the most horrendous treatment.

One afternoon, on a Sunday when all the servants were given their breaks to spend the day with their families, and Iria was inside cleaning her room, Caldwell decided to have lessons outside in the garden. Quatre was more frightened than anything. The garden... Caldwell meant in the middle, by the fountain, where no one could hear or see them. He wanted so badly to cry, but kept it in for the sake of his pride.

As a precaution, the teacher set up the music stand and papers just like they were going to have their lesson. Quatre was even instructed to take the violin out and set it aside, ready to grab it in case they heard someone coming. Then Caldwell sat on the edge of the fountain and summoned the boy to him, who reluctantly went. "Quatre... Please realize I am becoming very impatient with you."

"I figured as much," Quatre muttered. Caldwell smacked him across the face.

"This is only hurting you. Why not share some of this pain with your family? Wasn't it your father's fault to leave such valuable information in the hands of a child?" Caldwell smirked. "Was it not your father who hired _me_?"

"It was my father who searched so desperately to find me a distraction from worrying over his leave... It was my father who went to great lengths to find the most renowned violin teacher who he was sure he could trust his only son to. My father cares about me... That's why he hired Vincent Caldwell, the violinist, to teach me music, not Caldwell the asshole to steal our money."

Another smack, then a rough grip around his wrist. Caldwell yanked the boy forward. "Such an angel, you are...Worried so much for the protection of your family, you're even willing to sacrifice your own safety." His eyes looked him over once, then focused on his face. "You _look_ like quite the angel, don't you? All blonde hair and pale skin." Then before he could expect it, Quatre was thrown to the fountain edge beside the man, on his stomach. His chest hit roughly against the stone, making breathing difficult and the wounds on his body ache terribly. Hands gripped at his shirt tightly, yanking it up to reveal his small back, a clean canvas for a maniac's knife. Caldwell grinned and pinned the boy down by the back of his neck while the other held the knife he so loved tightly. "But no wings? What's an angel without wings?" The cold metal touched to Quatre's skin, just below his right shoulder blade. "They must be trapped. Let me cut you open so that your wings can grow. Maybe even you can fly away from here, little angel."

Quatre sobbed, trying hard not to struggle, as that would've made the situation, and the wounds, a lot worse. He merely clutched the stone beneath him tightly, shut his eyes and prayed.

The knife sank into his skin, tearing open a clean, red trail along his shoulder blades and making Quatre scream in agony. The cut wasn't too deep, as any severe injury would call for a trip to the hospital, and that would've immediately raised suspicion to Iria.

Blood began to stream out, running down his sides, coloring the white stone red and making Quatre's whole body feel cold. As the knife finished on one side, it skimmed to the other shoulder blade and began a similar cut there. Quatre screamed again, crying, sobbing, begging some invisible existence out there for help. Caldwell grinned wider when more red was visible. 'How delicious', he thought, as his eyes watched the deep cuts gush out more blood to blemish the perfect skin of the boy's back. How pale and inviting... Caldwell found the idea of resisting something so sinful useless, and he quickly repositioned himself so that he was standing behind Quatre then. The blade moved to the back of his neck, pushing through a few strands of blonde hair to poke dangerously at his skin and threatening to sever his spinal chord. When one cold hand began to grope around the front of Quatre's jeans, those teal eyes shot open,, blurred by tears, as new screams emitted from his mouth, this time begging him to stop. The button and zipper were undone... Quatre's pants and underwear were pushed to his knees. And after a few moments, he could tell that Caldwell had done the same to himself.

Quatre had read many books, ranging from science to romance novels. He'd been eager to expand his knowledge of how things worked and what made people behave the way they did... Something he had come across before explained vaguely the process of two men having intercourse (Quatre, at five, had already figured out where babies came from). It had come as a shock to him, but he learned to accept it once reading more into it and opening his mind a little; 'It must hurt, but if that's what they want to do, then they can do it.'

This was nothing like what he had read.

The moment Caldwell penetrated him, it was horrible. It was unbelievably painful and made Quatre uncomfortable beyond belief. Tears streaming down his face nonstop, he clutched the stone tighter and let out a scream. He couldn't imagine something like this ever feeling good and wondered, in the back of his mind, where the appeal was to this.

Once the man began to move, back and forth, hurting him worse and leaving no time for Quatre's body to adjust to it, it became like a nightmare in slow motion. The pain was so intense, Quatre thought he was dying.

It lasted for only a short while, though it seemed much longer to the boy. Once he was allowed to collapse to the ground, blood and semen staining the stone, forehead scraping against the side of the fountain, Quatre could only breathe heavily and cry quietly. Meanwhile, Caldwell carefully cleaned himself up and buttoned up his pants. "Well, Quatre, how about that? Quite the scandal when the world finds out the young and promising heir to the Winner fortune lost his chastity at the delicate age of eight, wouldn't you say?" Once again, the man's eyes were dark and cold as he held the boy in them, sneering and watching carefully for his reaction. Quatre physically gave none, though on the inside he was weeping. As a human being... he was no good anymore. Not only had his skin been cut into, his blood spilt, his heart damaged, and his pride torn viciously into shreds, but now he was no longer pure. How humiliating it would be... if Iria... or his father were to find out. He'd no longer be deemed worthy of the name Winner... He could easily be disinherited, or disowned

"And guess what, Quatre?"

His bloodshot eyes slowly opened.

"Lovely Miss Iria will be receiving the same treatment... in just a few moments."

His eyes widened.

"She's upstairs, right? In her room? How perfect... Though she will have the advantage over you by having a soft bed to be taken on, rather than cold stone... But who's keeping score, anyway?" Caldwell knelt down beside the trembling boy and whispered beside him. "I hope your sister isn't a virgin, boy. Otherwise, it will be undeniably painful for her."

"334-787555-2020-11-3!" Quatre screamed.

Caldwell sat back. "What?"

"...334-787555-2020-11-3... The password is 520QURAWI67822..." Tears poured heavily, his body shuddering as his head fell more. "The second password is 'Raberba7'... My account ID file is 'Sandrock'... From there, you can access the main Winner file... and the bank accounts."

...A slow grin crept onto Caldwell's face as he leaned closer to the boy and whispered, "Good boy." His hands quickly moved to his coat pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "Now, repeat that to me one more time..."

* * *

"Lessons" ended at 4:00. The two entered the house together, Caldwell looking more than a little pleased, and Quatre's face hidden. Iria met them in the parlor room. She noticed the time and smiled to them. "I guess that'll be it for today?"

"I'm afraid so," Caldwell smiled politely. "I also may be taking the next two days off... I have some financial issues to take care of... I hope you don't mind. Mr. Winner is aware of my pre-scheduled time off."

"Yes, of course." Iria nodded her head, smiling sweetly and escorting the man to the door. "Have a safe trip, Mr. Caldwell."

"I will." And he was gone, out the door... and out of Quatre's range. The moment that presence was gone, the moment that door closed... the boy collapsed, falling to the floor and staring into nothingness. His sister noticed almost immediately and rushed to his side.

"Quatre?? Quatre, what's wrong?"

"...I'm... just tired..." The blonde head lifted to look at the door, fearing greatly that it would open again and that horrid man would stride back in. Fighting back his sobs, he stood quickly and ran upstairs, leaving a confused and worried Iria behind.

Once in the safety of his bedroom, he locked his door and collapsed onto his bed, trying his damned hardest not to cry. He had no right to cry... He had brought this upon himself... A real man wouldn't cry...

Treacherously, tears soaked through his lids and onto the sheets. And then, all at once, his body shook violently with sobs held back for far too long. One hand fished quickly for his pillow, which he yanked down to bury his face into so that his cries would be muffled. His body ached... He was positive he was bleeding again, and not just from his back... God, it had hurt so much when Caldwell raped him... Torturous and slow... He had no idea how his body could've taken it.

Vaguely, he noticed his shirt felt wet, and sat up slowly to peel off the blood-soaked clothing. It was a miracle Iria hadn't noticed... Caldwell had done pretty well to clean Quatre up so that he'd look presentable for at least a few moments while in Iria's presence. And god, would the aching in his rump ever stop?? Quickly, he pulled off his pants and underwear, and out of the corner of his eye noticed red tinting the white. Sobbing again, he clumsily climbed off of his bed and walked to his bathroom, finding a towel and proceeding in soaking up whatever blood he could, then filled his bathtub with warm water and soaked in it for a while to make the bleeding stop.

_He had been raped...._ The thought wouldn't leave his head. His face tinted pink as he thought of it over and over again... He was disgusting. His father would surely be upset with him... How repulsive would he find his son after discovering the truth? What would his punishment be?... Oh, who cared about the rape? What about the money? What would his father do then?

Quatre groaned... Probably, he wouldn't be his father for very long... _Disowned...._ Another word that haunted him.... But right then, all Quatre could seem to focus on was the burning pain through his insides, and the sting of the water on his wounds. He looked down at his reflection in the water... For all that blonde hair and pale skin... Quatre certainly was no angel. There were no wings on him, and no wings to set free. Caldwell had proved that. Quatre was just as worthless as any human... Even more worthless, now. And the scars on his back proved it. They were proof that Quatre was more lowly than anyone. His wings were rendered from him. He couldn't fly away. He could never fly away, ever.... Not anymore.

As the water tinted deeper shades of pink, Quatre sank down into the water, trying to escape the world, even for just a moment, and slip into his own filth, his own dirtied blood, and perhaps wake up to find out it was all just a bad dream.

* * *

CHAPTER 2 - End

AN: So... I'm trying really hard to make Caldwell seem really vicious, but I don't think it's working... At least, not for me, but maybe that's cuz I wrote it so it doesn't seem so intense to the person who thought it up... Blahblahblah, excuses excuses...

Poor Quatre... I feel bad for abusing him so much. Why are little kids such easy victims?? I hate how messed up I am, but I love it at the same time!

Review, plzkthnx.


	3. Chapter 3

The Emperor and the Arsonist - Chapter 3  
Yosuke  
Rated-R  
Angst/Drama

AN: Oh snap, what happens next??

* * *

There were no signs of theft yet... A day and a half after Caldwell had acquired the account information, the con had made no moves to begin dwelling in his new fortune. Quatre felt a little curious as to why while sitting at the computer and checking the accounts. After thinking about it for a moment, he realized that Caldwell was much more clever than that. Obviously, it would be suspicious if the two days that the teacher took off happened to be the two days the money vanished in. Even if Caldwell decided to take the money then and escape shortly after, his name would obviously get out there, and he'd be known as a con. No one would ever hire him again. He'd never get his hands on any more fortunes. He'd do it secretly and at times no one could pin him for. It was how he must've been working all these years. Rich men hire rich men. That was how Caldwell had become so popular and recommended in England; Caldwell had so much money from other con jobs that he was instantly recognized as a higher-ranking man, worthy of a rich person's time. And as soon as Caldwell was allowed into another rich man's house, poof! The money was gone, and Caldwell's name was kept clean due to lack of evidence.

But Quatre wondered... How did he always acquire the information? He suspected that Caldwell would come to kill him once this was all over, then cover up the crime scene and blame someone else... But he couldn't have done that at every job he'd gone to. People would've noticed a trend after a while of one person dying and somehow, it was always the maid's fault or the gardener's fault. So how did he do it? Did he hack into computers? No... Today, many millionaire's kept locks on their computers so that no one could get in to access their precious accounts. And even if they did, it was easy to leave a trace on there somewhere, so they could always find out who did it, when, and what they tried to do.

Perhaps he paid an individual in each household to get him the information... It seemed sensible enough. Then that person would never say anything about it. They had no reason to, because they had been paid well. But if that were true, why hadn't Caldwell attempted to bribe Quatre like all the rest? ...Quatre understood almost immediately once thinking back to the "angel" comment the man had made. Right from the beginning, Caldwell had seen Quatre as a bright, curious, yet shy boy. All that time spent on lessons was just meant to study the child and see what plan of action met his needs. It must've been obvious after a while that Quatre was faithful to his family and would never dream of hurting them in any way... Enter force; Caldwell would exchange his family's safety for his family's money. Iria was just a hop, skip, and a jump away. If Quatre refused Caldwell, then Caldwell would take Iria instead.

Quatre's eyes skimmed the account numbers once more, just to be safe. No, nothing was out of the ordinary. That man would wait for the opportune moment, when all suspicion was lifted from him.

And then everything would be ruined.

And it would be all Quatre's fault.

* * *

The two days passed. Caldwell returned, an unreadable expression on his face when he entered through the front door. Iria looked him over. "Mr. Caldwell... Are you alright? You look as if you haven't slept in a while."

The man smiled and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. Those financial issues of mine kept me up somewhat late... But nothing to worry about. I am now ready to continue our lessons. Where is Quatre?"

"In the kitchen. I'll go get him." The girl walked out of the room, searching for her younger brother. A moment later, she returned with said boy, then left the two alone for their lesson.

Quatre's angry eyes looked up at the man, who returned the gaze with malice masked by politeness. With a rough voice, he quietly said, "That account information you gave me... was incorrect, child."

The boy was startled. "What?"

"Those numbers were wrong... You had better give me the correct ones this time."

Quatre was in shock. "What? No, it can't be! I memorized those numbers three years ago. I know it by heart backwards and forwards... How could it be wrong?... How far did you get?"

"The first password."

"The first password.... 520QURAWI67822... That's the one it's been for years..."

Caldwell was slowly growing more angry. Quatre noticed and shivered.

"I-I swear... It's always been 520QURAWI67822... I never changed it!"

"Perhaps you'd like to show me on _your_ computer?"

"Our computer has an auto-sign in system since we have to access our accounts so much and it's such a pain to type that stuff in every time. My father never showed me or Iria how to disable that system."

"Then," Caldwell continued, giving another fake smile. "I suggest you call your father and ask how it's done."

"But..." Quatre protested. "If I sign out of the account, and something's happened with the password, I might never be able to sign in again!"

"Can't you view the passwords somewhere in the system??"

"I don't know..." Quatre was feeling more and more pathetic. "I never tried..."

"Well, then, I insist you find out. The more time you let pass without gaining anymore information on this, the more pieces I rip your skin in to." The man slowly towered over the blonde-haired boy, causing great fear to once again surface to Quatre's face. Caldwell grinned. "We will be having classes in the garden again today."

* * *

Quatre lay on the grass, on his back, staring mindlessly at the blue sky. His eyes squinted a little to look past the rays of the sun and see the white clouds. Such a beautiful day... The breeze sure felt nice. It ruffled his hair, and caused the grass to tickle his skin. What a lovely, lovely day...

And then Caldwell walked into his sight, blocking his view of the sky, and once again Quatre could taste the blood in his mouth and feel the cuts on his chest. Right... He was naked, wasn't he? Put on the grass to cover up the bloodstains... The aching in his backside had started again. He was definitely bleeding there, just like the first time he had been raped. And Caldwell would continue to do this until Quatre figured out what was wrong with the account information.

A hand wrapped around his ankle. His eyes shut tight as he sobbed. This wasn't fair... Why couldn't he fight back? Why wasn't he allowed to? Because of the stupid account and that stupid password? What had gone wrong? It was all supposed to be over now, and because of that stupid, stupid password, Quatre had to endure more of this... torture.

Caldwell penetrated him again, the third time that day. And for the third time that day, Quatre cried. Even though he was being treated like some skanky teenager, his heart was crying out like the eight-year-old child that he was.

* * *

It was late. Quatre was tired and achy. Iria had gone to bed right after dinner, leaving Quatre up by himself. So secretly, he went to the computer, turning it on and checking in to his account. Shifting the bandages wrapped around his chest, he carefully scooted forward so as not to hurt his backside any further than it already was. He opened a few screens... The auto-sign in took effect. Concentrating, he began to skim through the different points in the computer to see if perhaps his password was written anywhere. Menu after menu... box after box... The information was nowhere to be found. Quatre gritted his teeth. This wasn't good... If he didn't find the password soon... Aha! Here! He double-clicked on a file to open it. As the page loaded the text, it suddenly disappeared. Quatre grunted and tried to click on it again, but a new box came up. This one was red with large print on it. 'ACCESS TO THIS FOLDER HAS BEEN LOCKED. PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD FOR ACCESS.'

Quatre's jaw dropped. "I need a password to get my password??" Groaning, he began to type in a few different things that could possibly be the password. None of them fit. After five tries, the box changed to a shut down timer. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... The computer shut down due to an attempted break-in.

The boy's fist collided with the monitor, lowering his head and holding back his tears and frustration. "Dammit! Why can't I get to it??"

"Quatre?"

He shot up when he heard his name being called softly. His head turned to see Iria walk in, looking worriedly at her younger brother.

"Quatre? What's wrong?"

"Iria..." Quatre started, but stopped, realizing he must have looked terrible at that moment with his red eyes and shaking body. "I was just... checking my account."

"Didn't it auto-sign in?" She walked towards him. He nodded.

"Yes... I wanted to check my password, though, and it wouldn't let me."

"I did that."

Quatre shot up, eyes wide. "What?"

"I changed your password for you. You told me you were worried about Mr. Caldwell getting curious about your money, so I changed your passwords just to be safe." She smiled a little. "And I put the passwords under lock so no one could try to look at them while you weren't here--" She stopped went she noted Quatre's expression. He was about to cry. "Quatre, honey? What's wrong?" She bent over and put her hands on his shoulders. Swiping at an escaping tear, he shook his head and smiled.

"Nothing, just a little frustrated. I couldn't figure it out... Thanks." Sheepishly, his eyes looked up. "So... what are my new passwords?"

"I think I'll keep that a secret until Mr. Caldwell leaves... Just in case." She stood and smiled, but the boy grabbed her hand, sliding out of the chair and pleading her with his eyes.

"No, please tell me! I need to know!"

"...What for?" He earned a questioning gaze from his sister, who now began to grow suspicious. Quatre released her hand and backed away.

"I-It's my account... I have the right to know."

"Well, you can wait. Besides, I'm guessing you just wanna buy some fancy new violin with your money, right? Just wait until your lessons are over, then I'll open it back up for you." Sighing, she turned to leave, shutting off the light on her way out. Quatre remained in that dark room, body trembling, heart heavy. He didn't know the passwords... They had been changed and he couldn't access them anymore...

Caldwell was going to murder him.

* * *

For the next three days, Quatre was unable to figure out what his passwords were... and learned that Caldwell was very serious by what he meant. Each time he came, a new cut was marked somewhere on the young boy's body. But despite all the pain he was going through, he was at least thankful the man hadn't touched Iria yet. He still worried though... He spent quite a few nights without any sleep, wondering, fearing that the man would come back and try to hurt his precious sister. Quatre couldn't let that happen, and he would do everything in his power to prevent it.

Unfortunately for him, that opportunity came about.

Caldwell decided to hold lessons a little late one day. He came by at 12:00 and promised to be out by 7:00. Naturally, Iria invited him to have dinner with them, which during the whole meal, Quatre didn't utter a single word. When Iria's eyes fell away from the two of them, Caldwell, who had graciously taken a seat beside his student, would unsuspectingly reach his hand beneath the table, out of anyone's view, and touch Quatre. The boy felt imprisoned... trapped. He wanted so badly to scream and cry for help, but Iria could never know what happened. She didn't deserve to be dragged into this mess. Quatre could only bite his lip and silently eat his dinner as Caldwell pushed his hand inside his student's pants.

After dinner, Iria decided to go take her shower early, then start her studies. Caldwell waved to her as she left, remaining at the kitchen table for a while. He stayed there for at least fifteen minutes, reading a small book he usually kept in his back pocket. Quatre glanced every now and then to see what it was, but couldn't make out the title due to it being written in a different language, one he didn't know yet. Praising the few moments he had where he wasn't being molested by the man, Quatre started cleaning up the counters and the table. They had maids to do this, sure, but he didn't just want to sit at that table and await his impending torture. Plus he hated making those poor women do all the work, especially when he was the cause of the mess. He'd told his father this once and all he said was, "They _do_ get paid, Quatre. It's not like they're slaves."

Quatre understood, but still couldn't help but wonder what job those women could really be doing instead of cleaning up after people.

Fifteen minutes past Iria's dismissal, Caldwell stood and tucked the book into his back pocket once more, then turned and beckoned Quatre to follow him as he walked out of the room. Quatre tossed the towel onto the counter and quickly followed, unsure of what to expect. The man walked past the parlor room and began up the stairs, the boy followed suspiciously. The moment he turned to walk towards Iria's room, Quatre knew exactly what was going to happen and he'd be damned if he let it. With whatever courage he had left after facing the teacher so many times, the boy threw himself between Caldwell and the door. "Don't go in there! That's Iria's room!"

"I know," Caldwell gleamed a smile and grabbed the boy's blonde locks, dragging him into the room with him. His eyes scanned the area for the girl, then proceeded in further until he found just what he was looking for: The bathroom. And from inside, the sounds of the shower running could be heard. Caldwell's plans were all too apparent, and Quatre thought to scream so Iria would have a warning, but remembered the position he was in and refrained from doing anything that would get him caught. Quatre was still holding the financial crisis secret... and no matter what story Caldwell could come up with to cover up his intrusion into her room and the obvious pain Quatre was in, Iria would immediately catch on to everything... and that could end in a serious struggle, one Caldwell could win just by his obvious size advantage.

Quatre felt like crying again. This couldn't be happening... Caldwell was going to molest Iria.... No, Caldwell couldn't. If he did, Iria could call their father and... Oh, god... What if Caldwell intended to rape her then murder her? But he couldn't do that and hold onto Quatre at the same time. So was Caldwell just going to...

The man stood by the door to the bathroom and peaked in, his eyes searching into the room to find what he wanted.

There she was.

Quatre positively refused to look. Besides, Caldwell unconsciously held the boy at a distance by his hair, so he couldn't have looked even if he wanted. Shaking, he looked up to see his teacher's expression, and to his horror found his eyes slowly darkening with that evil pleasure he so often held when doing something cruel to Quatre. Caldwell was enjoying what he was watching, which meant... Iria was probably in full view. The boy shut his eyes and tried hard not to cry.

From what Caldwell could see, Iria was about done with her shower. And from what Quatre could hear... he guessed about the same. The shower knobs turning, the water shutting off, the rings clinging against each other as the shower curtain was pulled open... Quatre covered his mouth with his hands to resist sobbing. Iria started humming a song. It was pretty to Quatre's ears, a bright contrast to the darkening atmosphere. There was the sound of the towel sliding off the rack... Wet footsteps across tile... Quatre hoped she'd had enough sense to wrap the towel around her then. He peeked up to see Caldwell's face. His grin slowly vanished. The boy was confused until he heard another towel being pulled from the rack. Some rustling... Quatre understood, feeling some amount of relief washing through him. Two towels; Iria had wrapped one around her and was using the other to dry her hair. Most girls did that, from what he'd seen on TV. Praise girly habits, he thought, then once more fought a cry of pain as he was jerked back and quickly led from the room by Caldwell's unrelenting grasp.

In the hallway, he was released and thrown to the floor. Caldwell stood over him. "You have two days."

Quatre rubbed his hip. "W-What?"

"Two days. You have two days to get me the access codes. If you don't have them by then, your sister will suffer the consequences." He grinned evilly. "Why do you think I was peeking in on her just now?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. He could've voiced his opinion, but he was too afraid it'd be worse than what Caldwell might've been thinking.

"I like to see my lovely lady on display before taking her, that way I know what I'll be granted when the time comes to shove her down on a bed." He scoffed. "That, and it will be so wonderful to see the reaction on her face when I tell her I had previously seen her bare... Girls like her are usually mortified by such information." After a moment, Caldwell took out his pocket watch and examined it. "Well, it's time for me to take my leave. Give my regards to Miss Iria." The man began to walk past the horrified boy, who had yet to lift himself from his position on the carpet. "I will see you again soon, Quatre." The boy just barely caught a menacing grin out of the corner of his eye as he slowly disappeared down the stairs.

The images haunted his mind that night. Caldwell had seen his beloved sister, bare and unknowing. It wasn't fair. Iria shouldn't have been subjected to that. If she ever knew what had gone on behind that bathroom door, she would never live it down, let alone forgive Quatre for letting it happen. No... No, Iria was a forgiving person. Even if it was Quatre's fault, she loved her little brother. She'd never hold something like that against him. But she couldn't know. To know would be to kill. If she knew Caldwell had seen her, then she'd know how malicious he was, and then everything would be out in the open. Quatre would no longer be able to hide behind lies and excuses, and Iria would become a direct victim of Caldwell's abuse. Quatre had to keep things under control. He had to keep this secret.

The night was drawn out long and painfully. He couldn't sleep. Images of Iria's hurt body kept haunting his mind. Then his father's reaction when he found out... Quatre sobbed and buried himself deeper into the blankets of his bed. This was it. This was the end. Quatre would no longer be a loved member of the Winner family. There'd be no place left for him on this colony. God, how awful... Exiled at age eight, banned from home, unable to face the colony... Earth would probably be no better. In all honesty, Quatre could not see himself alive once this ordeal exploded into its impending doom. He hated to admit it, but death was probably the only road left once it was all over. Caldwell would have the money or Iria would be dead. He could not bear either vision. Quatre would have to die.

Strangely enough, the thought of death did not scare him quite as much as he had thought it would. Quatre sniffled. To die for the good of something would be honorable, and no one could shun his name. But to die as the result of something he'd done wrong seemed meaningless and disgraceful. This opened a new option for Quatre that he hadn't quite been aware of before: Kill himself. If he died, Caldwell could no longer hound him for money, plus if he left a proper warning for his father, then things would be settled much more easily. His father had so much more power than his son. But that also seemed selfish. He couldn't just die and leave his father to clean up the mess. That was not fair to anyone... but it seemed then like the only option. It was for the sake of the family and their wealth. If Quatre didn't want this family to be torn apart and left in the gutters with no money and no pride, even at the expense of his own shame....

Quatre Raberba Winner was going to have to die.

* * *

It took days to come up with a suitable technique, and it bothered Quatre nonstop. Even when Caldwell stood over his limp and beaten body with a knife drawn, Quatre was determined to maintain enough mental stamina to keep his thoughts directed towards his father and the message he had to leave him. There just didn't seem to be any words to declare his deepest apologies or warnings. _'I'll be dead soon, so keep my account locked away and have Caldwell arrested. Keep Iria safe.'_ It was the best he could come up with, but it wasn't enough. It didn't explain what was happening or why Caldwell was acting this way or why Quatre had to die. He had to keep thinking and keep stalling Caldwell. Thankfully Iria hadn't become suspicious yet, so that granted him even more time.

One blissful day came when Caldwell had called in to the mansion, relaying to Iria that he would be unable to attend lessons that day as he was ill with a fever. Iria wished him all the best, quickly informing Quatre of the news. When the boy heard, he kept a look of sadness on his face for having to miss another exciting lesson, but on the inside he was brimming with joy. The gods had graced him with a day free of pain and heartache. He would have time to think, and he took every available moment. Jumping out of bed, he took to cleaning his room. It was just something to preoccupy himself with as he contemplated the future. Caldwell would be back the next day, more than likely. He'd have to suffer the abuse again, but if he could clarify his plans, it wouldn't hurt quite as much emotionally as it had for the past several days.

An hour passed before little Quatre had realized that he hadn't eaten his breakfast yet. Somewhat startled, he rushed from the room, still dressed in an oversized nightshirt and his underwear. It was nothing new to Iria when she saw him, though she couldn't help but scold him about it. "You can't run around the house in panties when you grow up, Quatre."

Quatre huffed and climbed up into a chair, waiting patiently to be served. "I don't wear panties! I'm not a girl!"

"You may as well be, what with the way you look." Iria slid a pancake onto the plate and handed it to her brother, who took it graciously.

"I'm still adolescent! I'll get bigger as I grow! I won't look like a little kid forever."

"That's too bad," Iria sighed, setting her plate beside Quatre's and taking a seat next to him. She stared adoringly at him. "I like you little. I'm scared of you growing up. It means I won't be able to look after you anymore, and you'll have to make all your own decisions."

Quatre had set to eating his pancake, glimpsing up at Iria every now and then between bites. "I make decisions now."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Well..." The boy wanted to explain his current situation, but knew better. "I invested in a stock."

"Did you?" Iria seemed surprised. Quatre nodded.

"Yeah, the Barton's company, whatever it's called."

"Oh, right, I remember them. I think we met the owner once. Their son is a brat, I'm glad you never met him." Iria reached across the table and pulled the syrup pot towards her. "I heard they just had a daughter, though. I hope she becomes the heiress. A girl has got to be much less chaotic than their weasley little boy."

It grew silent after that. Quatre wasn't sure what to say anymore, and Iria seemed finished with her story. Once all the pancakes had been eaten, Quatre had set to work cleaning off the table while Iria washed the dishes. The awkward silence bore down on poor Quatre, and he felt the responsibility on his shoulders weigh even heavier. He decided then would be an appropriate time to inquire on a few things that were bugging him.

"Iria?"

"Yes?"

"... Remember when I was nervous about Mr. Caldwell taking my money?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, remember I said I was embarrassed for thinking that and I was trying not to worry about it anymore, but it got me thinking... What would happen if he really were after the money?"

"Well," Iria started, going off into thought as she put a plate in the drysink. "I imagine he wouldn't get very far once I would tell Father."

"But say he did it without you or me knowing."

"That's pretty hard to do, considering we have the account information and the system is hack-proof." Iria seemed to sense the trend of the questions and stopped her duty of dishwashing, dropping the rag into the sink and leaning against the counter, crossing her arms. "But if he _did_ get the information, we'd obviously start to see money disappear... But we've got financial security to handle stuff like that. Lawyers would hound him once they find his trace in the system."

"... What about me? Would anyone be mad at you or me?"

"I don't see why. You mean if he got _your_ account information? Oh, well I suppose.... Father would be disappointed."

Quatre's heart grew heavy.

"Well, I'd say he'd be flat-out mad, but you know him. If it was an honest mistake, then it's easily forgivable. If you did it on purpose, that's another story." Iria took the moment to examine her brother's face, noticing the shame surfacing in his eyes and so suddenly she became worried. Gracefully, she knelt down before him and took him by the arms. "Quatre, what's wrong? Why are you so scared all of a sudden about Mr. Caldwell and our money?"

He couldn't look her in the face. He knew that if he looked into her eyes, everything would spill out in buckets of tears and confessions. It was so hard for him, but he couldn't give in. This was part of Caldwell's torture, he knew it. Quatre hated that he had already given in as far as the finances went, and perhaps even his family relations were doomed, but his humanity had to stay put. Even if Quatre decided to end his own life, he'd still do it as a proud human being. Quatre held the tears at bay and smiled, but never looked Iria in the face.

"I've been having nightmares. I just kept dreaming that I'd done something bad and suddenly Caldwell took all our money." He shuffled one foot innocently. "I know he can't get the money... but the dreams keep giving me all these 'What if's. I'm sorry..." It was the best excuse he could make. Therefore he could ask questions without having an anchor attached to them. Iria seemed to buy it. She kissed his forehead and stood straight.

"Quatre, don't worry about a thing. Even if someone did get your information, remember I changed your password. I even took the opportunity to change mine as well. Father insists we change it every few months, anyway. I was already getting worried 'cause you'd never changed it before. This was good timing." She patted his head once and resumed her duty of washing the dishes. From behind her, Quatre's smile faded as he quietly strolled out of the kitchen, taking in the information he had just heard and trying to process it while continuing to think up a plan to foil Caldwell.

* * *

Oh, man... When had the name Caldwell become a synonym for "evil"? This was ridiculous... Quatre already hated that he was losing sleep over this whole matter, but now Caldwell was summoning him out of his own home at 1:00 in the morning. This just wasn't human. Quatre checked his watch as he made his way silently down the street. Caldwell had given the family a phone call earlier in the evening. When Iria had picked it up, he'd asked for Quatre and she handed the phone off to him. Over the line, that haunting voice had demanded of the boy to show up behind the music store at 1:00. Yes, Quatre was scared, but he was equally pissed off. The boy could get very grouchy when someone robbed him off his sleep, and was about ready to resist Caldwell with everything he had to vent his agitation.

The music store he'd originally bought his brand new violin from came into view, but rather than feel the joy he usually did when seeing this place of peace and harmony, he felt anxiety, anger, and fear. What could Caldwell possibly do to him tonight? He was sure he'd be used to it, but knowing this man, it could be something he would never expect.

Checking for passersby, Quatre slipped into the alley and walked behind the store. Partly he feared Caldwell _wouldn't_ be there, and instead would use the absence of Quatre in his own home as an opportunity to run in and hurt Iria, but knew that the man knew better. There were security cameras everywhere, and the alarm would trigger the moment any strange shadow tried to slip through any door or window. As far as the footage Quatre knew the cameras had caught of him slipping out into the night, he could easily explain that off as needing to take a walk or run to a store for some stomach ache medicine. He'd done it before, so no one would be suspicious.

But Caldwell _was_ there, leaning against a brick wall and staring at his pocket watch with a bored expression on his face. After a few seconds, he clicked it shut and put it back in his pocket, standing straight and glaring at the boy. "You're three minutes late."

"Boo hoo," Quatre retorted bravely. "Go tell someone who cares."

Caldwell slapped him, sending him to the ground. "I do not appreciate it when my students are late for anything."

Quatre rubbed his cheek and sat up, glaring back at Caldwell. "Did you need something or are you just testing my punctuality?"

He was met with a kick to the chest, sharp and painful. The child cried out and clutched his ribs as he tried to get his bearings to look at the man. Caldwell was scowling. "You will stand properly and address me with respect. I am your teacher, now behave!" He kicked him again. Quatre grunted and scrambled back a few feet, standing while rubbing his hands on his bruised chest. "Now," Caldwell continued. "Might I assume you have those passwords?"

Quatre's attention was split between checking his injured chest for reopened cuts and deciding whether or not to tell his teacher the truth. After thinking for a moment, the boy shook his head. "No can do. The passwords were changed."

"Oh? By who?"

"By........ my dad."

Caldwell didn't seem convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. My father changes them every so often for security reasons."

"Really?" The man grinned. "How often does he change them?"

"Every few months. Why?"

"I just find it strange, is all. Considering you said yourself that you memorized your passwords and access codes three years ago."

Quatre froze. He'd forgotten that little detail. Crap. He tried to come up with some sort of excuse to cover up his mistake, but Caldwell was too quick, and soon had a handful of blonde hair in his grasp, yanking the small boy towards him.

"I do not care to have my students lie to me. There should be some sort of mutual trust between a teacher and student, don't you think so, Quatre?" He pulled harder at the hair, causing Quatre to cry out in pain. The response, however, seemed to excite Caldwell, and he threw Quatre down. "I hate whiny little brats like you," Caldwell hissed, though Quatre could easily tell the man was feeling much of the opposite once he started to undo his own pants. Quatre grimaced and wiped away a falling tear.

"Yeah, 'cause all adults who hate little kids show them how much they hate them with their penises. Boy, I'll be sure to learn my lesson," he shot out sarcastically as he readied himself for the onslaught.

He could feel a blade at his throat, and quickly he fell silent as his back hit the pavement. Breathing slowly, Quatre waited quietly as Caldwell set to work on showing him just how deep his hatred ran.

* * *

_"The passwords were changed... I can't find out what they are... and now Caldwell knows... What do I do? Do I still kill myself?... Can I even do it? I think I'm brave enough... I guess I just gotta write that note now... Poor Iria... I hope she'll be okay..."_

* * *

Quatre had finally managed to get Pachabel's Canon just the way he wanted. The song was meant to inspire happiness, and once he played it for his sister, there was nothing but smiles in the room. It pleased Quatre, and he lowered the bow with a sense of relief. Not that Iria's perspective of violin music was any more in-depth than Quatre's, but to know she had enjoyed it so thoroughly satisfied him nonetheless.

"Quatre, that was beautiful!" Iria cried, standing as the boy took a dramatic bow before her. "I can't believe how well you play that thing now! You did that song justice."

Quatre blushed in response. "I've been working at it pretty hard. Despite all the faults I seem to keep finding in Caldwell, he teaches violin exceedingly well." Quatre shuffled to the couch where his violin case sat, carefully replacing the beautiful instrument back where it belonged. Iria stood from her chair and walked to her brother's side.

"Are you still nervous about Mr. Caldwell, Quatre?"

He shrugged. "A little, I guess."

Iria's face looked worried. "Should I call father to ask him to cancel lessons?"

"No, no," Quatre quickly stopped her. "It's fine. I think I'll last to the end of the lessons. We're almost done, anyway. Besides, I wouldn't want the most respected violinist in England to look down on me." Quatre chuckled. _'Anymore than usual, anyway...'_

It seemed convincing enough for Iria. She nodded and patted his head. "Alright, then. If you say so, though I have seemed to notice Mr. Caldwell getting rather... bold lately."

The child fought to hide his worry. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Iria took a seat on the couch. "It's just that he's been rather forward with you. I dunno if that's just his strict-teacher-side or not, but... it bothers me. He tells you what to do very adamantly. I'm thinking I should talk to him about that."

"No!" Quatre was in front of her in a heartbeat. "It's fine! It's just the way he is. I don't always do what he says the first time he says it, so he's a little irritated. It's my fault, you don't need to say anything to him."

The sudden fierce defense bothered Iria. She eyed her younger brother suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely."

She still didn't look convinced. Mentally arguing with herself, she stood and patted Quatre's head once more. "Alright, I'll leave you two to your lessons then. But if he gets too rough with you, please tell me. I won't have anyone bullying my adorable, defenseless little brother." She smiled once at him before walking from the room.

Quatre let out the breath he had been holding in. Gosh, it was getting harder and harder to hide secrets from her... Quatre had to end this soon.

* * *

CHAPTER 3 - End

AN: The reference I made to the Barton company is a little tricky, cuz you gotta remember the details. Iria said the Barton son was a brat. Rememer that the Gundam pilot Trowa was not the first Trowa Barton. Refer to Endless Waltz. The blonde guy who got shot was Trowa, remember? Yeah... He seemed like a snob, anyway. XDD

I am trying so damn hard to make Caldwell seem eeevil, but it's just not doing it for me... How about you guys?

Review or I keel yew.


	4. Chapter 4

The Emperor and the Arsonist - Chapter 4  
Yosuke  
Rated-R  
Angst/Drama

AN: Lacuna Coil rules my playlist...

* * *

The final week of lessons was approaching, and Quatre couldn't have been more relieved. All of this nonsense would be over with. Caldwell would have his money, only to have it taken back immediately as soon as Mr. Winner read Quatre's suicide note. Oh, to die... Quatre grimaced at how morbid his thoughts became so easily. How often do little kids worry about life and death? Not often enough, he supposed. Children always seemed to think they were immortal, that nothing could ever happen to them to destroy their so very fragile lives. But _he_ knew better. He'd been held hostage once before when he was four-years-old. He remembered the shape of the gun and the smell of the polished floor of the office. He remembered hearing sirens and police yelling. He couldn't remember much about the gunman except his voice. It was deep and hard and frightening. It was the first time Quatre had realized death was so easy, and oddly enough, this was honestly one of his first memories. Not a birthday party or a day with one of his many sisters or taking a trip in a space shuttle to see the Earth for the very first time... It was the warm gun barrel pressed to his cheek, and the deep chill settling into his spine. He could die just like anyone else. Children were most definitely not immortal.

Caldwell was back. Upon entering the home, he had smiled so caringly at the two siblings, but once Iria left the room as usual, the man was overwhelmed with anger.

"I want that money, Quatre."

"And I want world peace and to play _'Flight of the Bumblebee'_ once through without stumbling over the strings, but you don't hear me whining about it." His bravery sure had spiked the past few days. He was rather proud of himself.

Caldwell's response was a violent kick in the gut. Quatre doubled over, seeing two of everything as he struggled to take a proper breath.

"I will have you and your sister skinned before this day is through if you do not hand over those accounts numbers _now_!!" Caldwell hissed in as quiet a voice as he could manage with his face so red. Quatre tried to blink away the little lights dotting his vision as he peeked up at his teacher.

"What would you do with the skin afterwards? Rape it? I wouldn't be surprised," Quatre coughed out as he sat back, now comfortably seated on the ground with a hand over his abused stomach. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but I don't have those numbers. I can't get them. Someone changed them without my permission and now I have to try and figure them out by myself, and you chewing off my head about it every damn day isn't really helping." Maybe he was too brave...

He was expecting another kick in the stomach or for his hair to be pulled out of his scalp, but instead Caldwell smiled, almost lightheartedly, and knelt down before his student, gazing at him with intent. "You must think I'm all bark and no bite."

Quatre rolled his eyes. "Yeah, the constant physical abuse and sexual molestations hardly seem intimidating. _When_, pray tell, will you get serious with your threats?"

The man chuckled quietly to himself as he started fishing around in his inside coat pocket for something. "Your sister Iria _is_ a very lovely woman."

"I'm sure she'd be flattered."

"So then, I had to wonder, if your famed twenty-eight other sisters looked just as good as her."

Quatre fell silent, danger alert in his mind.

Caldwell slowly pulled an envelope from his pocket. "What was her name... Adara? Third-to-youngest daughter of the Winner family... Well, I thought you might still be feeling a little reluctant, what with your family's entire fortune on the line, so I went through the trouble of tracking her down and discussing this with her... I had no idea she lived so close by. In the same district even! What a lucky devil I am..." Caldwell handed the envelope to the boy's shaking hand. Quatre took it and carefully opened it up.

His eyes widened in horror. These were pictures of Adara. His beautiful, 18-year-old sister Adara... These were simple pictures of her, out in her front garden, talking with her husband, wiping the dirt from her knees... Nothing harmful, but still threatening. Caldwell knew where she lived. He was within an arm's reach of her. It scared him deeply, and again he was reminded of the smoking gun pointed at his face from so many years ago.

"She has the most dazzling blue eyes," Caldwell continued. "Did you know she has a scar on the small of her back?"

Quatre's trembling eyes looked up at his teacher in horror.

"But when I asked her about it, she just sobbed." The man laughed as if that thought had been the most entertaining thing he'd said all day. "Then again, she had been crying for a while..."

The boy started to see red. "What... did you do... to her?"

Caldwell chuckled and waved his finger in the air in a circle. "Keep flipping through, you'll see."

It was difficult to comprehend that his darling big sister Adara was hurt in some way that had been a result of his negligence, but he had to know what had happened to her. His eyes automatically fixed back to the photos as he continued to flip. Eventually, he reached the series of pictures he was dreading. Adara, nude, on the couch, tied up with duct tape and blindfolded. She looked bruised and her hair was a mess. Quatre muffled a sob. "How could you..."

"Beauty is a hard thing to resist, Quatre. As is money." Caldwell took the pictures back from his student and tucked them back into the envelope. "And if I can't have one, I'll just have to indulge myself in the other."

"Where... is she?"

"That, my boy, is not for you to know. But I can assure you she's relatively in the same condition as she was when I took those pictures. Probably getting worse, actually. You tend to get ill when you don't eat for a few days."

"You can't... You can't do this!" There was a growing urge to lunge out and tear at the man's throat, but Quatre forced himself to keep a cool head. Getting into a physical confrontation with Iria just a room over was not a very good idea. Plus Caldwell was three times Quatre's size. He wouldn't have a chance, just like all the other times.

Caldwell laughed again and stood, towering over his student with a new-found superiority. Quatre was intimidated, and they both knew it. "Quatre, your darling Adara is going to die because of you. Don't you want to do anything to stop it from happening?"

"Give her back!"

"Tick tock, Quatre. I already know where sister number seven is. Shall I go retrieve little miss Santiga as well?"

Tears were quickly welling up and spilling over. The boy's face was red and his vision was blurred with both hatred and fear. He hadn't even thought to stand back up yet, though he worried that attempting to do so would be useless, as his legs felt numb then. This was getting to be too much. Every childlike instinct in him told him to run crying to Iria, but the protective side of him ordered him not to. Iria could not know. Oh god... What if Adara's husband realized she had gone missing? Had Caldwell already planned for that? If he hadn't, and Quatre asked, Caldwell may have been inclined to go kill the innocent man. Could Quatre possibly try to go find Adara? Surely she couldn't be too far away...

Quatre's breathing stilled as his eyes focused somewhere into space. Yes.... yes, this could work...

He rubbed at his eyes and cheeks furiously, then fanned air into them to deplete some of the puffiness. Caldwell watched curiously as the boy climbed to his feet, finding renewed strength, and wobbled into the next room, calling for Iria. Caldwell followed cautiously, making sure to stay in Quatre's periph so that the child couldn't try anything sly.

Iria was busy jotting something down in a notebook, but she looked up when Quatre walked in with Caldwell following close behind. "What's up, Quatre?"

"Mr. Caldwell wanted to know if it was alright if I go with him to the concert hall downtown. Can I? Can I? Please? Just for a little bit, just to check it out!" He turned his doe-like eyes to his sister, holding onto her sleeve pathetically to win her over. From behind, Caldwell cleared his throat.

"Actually, I never said--"

"He never said downtown specifically, but that's the closest concert hall and I don't wanna travel too far. Besides," Quatre looked over his shoulder at his teacher. "If I can see such a magnificent place as the concert hall, where only the best of the best plays, I may be inspired to..." Quatre gave him an urging look. "_perform_ better."

Caldwell heard the hint and narrowed his eyes. "I figured that perhaps I'd already given you enough incentive to _perform_ better." Caldwell knew he was up to something, but couldn't see any purpose behind the request rather than to find a more secluded spot to talk with him. For Iria's safety? Perhaps, but it would make no difference, as he could always come back later for her. Maybe Quatre intended to attempt some form of self-defense, or to murder him. Maybe he planned to get his teacher far enough away that he could call Iria from a desolated location and tell her to run, find their sisters, and get as far away as possible, or maybe to inform their father. So many possibilities... each of which could be easily planned for. Caldwell could just make sure Quatre had no weapons or any way to make it to a phone without him nearby. And the fact that he was letting his sister know almost guaranteed that they would _have_ to go somewhere. Quatre could not easily bring this up so enthusiastically without Caldwell backing him up, lest Iria become suspicious. Having Iria onto any clues was something he could not afford right then.

Finally, Caldwell smiled and nodded. "Indeed. A trip to the concert hall would be a delightful experience for the lad. Do we have your permission, Miss Iria?"

The silent air was awkward, and it seemed to alert Iria. There was no fun here. There was no delight. But even though Quatre had raised several suspicions about his teacher, it seemed odd for him to want to go somewhere with him so much. Iria had no reason to doubt them. After a few moments of consideration, Iria nodded. "Knock yourselves out."

Quatre gave a little victory jump and rushed to Caldwell's side, grabbing his sleeve and tugging cutely. "C'mon, Mr. Caldwell! Let's go!"

The boy's acting was perfect. For the first time, the teacher felt slightly intimidated by whatever Quatre might have had planned.

* * *

They rode in a taxi all the way through town, the same taxi they used to get to the music store the day Quatre had bought his first violin... before all of this mess started. Quatre sighed at the old days as he examined the cab driver's face. Same driver, too. Dark brown hair, light brown skin, and a goatee. By the way he referred to Caldwell so easily, Quatre took it as a sign that this was his regular driver, the same cab he took each day to the Winner estates, or anywhere else for that matter. As the car pulled up to the concert hall, Caldwell told the driver to put it on his tab, however his student stopped him and pulled out his own wallet, reaching over the seat and handing the driver several bills in a large wad. "Please wait here for us, we'll be done shortly."

The driver took the wad of bills, his eyes widening at the mass and nodding generously at the boy. Quatre smiled and climbed out of the cab, Caldwell following with a suspicious look on his face. "You paid my driver?"

"Yeah. So?"

Caldwell said nothing more, trying to calculate the maneuver in his head. Was this part of a process? Or was Quatre just being polite? Despite all his calculating, nothing made sense.

Quatre took the opportunity to walk into the concert building, desiring to learn a little history while on their outing. The teacher followed closely as they walked into the grand hall. Paintings lined the walls, everyone from Mozart to Beethoven to Pachelbel, even Sousa, Mussorgsky and Tchaikovsky. Quatre's eyes lit up like stars when he saw their famous paintings and busts, wondering what it would take for him to join the ranks of the legendary in a hall like this. Gradually, he came to a shelf containing a book, worn and faded, with a big sign above it reading: _"Legends in Music: Tales from Time"._ The boy began to skim through pages, idly searching for useful information while Caldwell examined from a few feet behind. He eventually came across the story of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, and wondered vaguely what that really had to do with music, but he soon found out as he read on. It was just a minor, almost irrelevant story pertaining to the legend when he supposedly sat by idly, playing a fiddle or singing a song as the Great Fire of Rome burned relentlessly.

_'Nero...'_ Quatre thought to himself as he shut the book. The pages had offered no more background on him, but the child's curiosity had been piqued. _'What an interesting character... I should look him up when I get home.'_

"Alright, I'm done," Quatre singsonged as he strolled past Caldwell and back towards the exit. The teacher growled angrily at the piling mystery. What was this boy trying to do? He turned sharply and grabbed his small wrist, yanking him back, wary of security cameras or anyone that might be passing by.

"Just what are you up to?"

Big teal eyes turned up to him, looking as innocent as possible. "Why, nothing, Mr. Caldwell. I just wanted to see the concert hall. Besides, I don't want to miss dinner, not to mention I'd rather not keep the cabby waiting. Shall we?" Quatre carefully pulled his arm free and started back for the doors. Fuming, Caldwell followed, aching for an opportunity to be alone with his student so that he might inflict him with all his frustration.

The cab driver immediately jumped from his car to hold the door open for Quatre, who was quickly followed by Caldwell. Judging by the look on the teacher's face, this driver had never opened the door for him before. Quatre laughed to himself and rode home in silence.

Once the car arrived in front of the Winner estates, Caldwell seemed so steamed that he strode furiously to the front door, not once looking at Quatre. It was just what the child was hoping for as the driver flocked to his side and pulled a card from his pocket, handing it to the blonde. "Please, feel free to use my services anytime, Mr. Winner."

Quatre smiled up at him as he took the card. "You figured it out?"

The man grinned back. "Mr. Caldwell has me drive him here every day. I knew this was the Winner home, though I suppose I didn't quite catch on right away that the young boy in the backseat was the heir to the family name, let alone Caldwell's student."

"Well, I greatly appreciate your service today, Mr...." He peaked down at the card. "Mr. Gevassi. And don't worry, I will be calling you again for more assistance. Please take care." Then he took off for the house, walking in first as Caldwell waited impatiently outside. Gevassi waved a little, slightly awestruck, then climbed back into his car and drove off.

Once they were inside, Quatre quickly averted Caldwell's pent-up anger by flashing an envelope in front of him. "You would let my sister go, right?"

Caldwell was silent at first, trying to gauge what the question meant, but once his eyes fixated on the paper in the small hand, his worries seemed to slip away. Chuckling, he smiled. "Perhaps."

"...But you don't promise."

"There's only one way to find out."

"I'll take that as a 'No way in hell'." Quatre flung the envelope at his teacher, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man caught it and eagerly opened it. Inside were four papers of information, printed directly from the source: The Winner bank accounts. Confusing combinations of numbers and letters lined the pages, but it all made sense to Caldwell, who smiled with crazed happiness.

"The passwords..."

"Yup." The child turned his gaze away, too horrified with himself to keep watching the man's deepest desire flooding the room with an almost evil aura. "All the codes... All for you. For my sister."

"You said you didn't have them yet, though."

"I lie _a lot_. I mean, c'mon. Iria still thinks I'm a virgin." His sad attempt at humor sickened himself, and he fought to keep the mood serious. Otherwise, he would've vomited right then and there.

Caldwell seemed amused by it. "Well, then, you'll have a lot of explaining to do to Miss Iria. She'll want to know where all the money has gone to, so perhaps you can explain the delicate yet painful process you went through for _me_ to get it." He laughed then, slightly sinister but genuinely pleased with himself. Quatre felt queasy.

"Where's Adara?"

"Oh, she's around. I may or may not tell you... depending on if these numbers work this time."

"I swear to you they work. Please. Give me my sister back."

"I would, but a little birdie told me you lie. _A lot_." The man chuckled, once again bemusing himself as he tucked the envelope away in his coat pocket and headed for the door. "Honestly, Quatre, you think I would hand her back so easily? I need collateral, you know. Even though I have the account information now, that doesn't mean you won't turn and run to the police or your father to try and catch me first." He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Your sister is just barely clinging to life, you know. I'm keeping her alive for you, so I would highly suggest you don't try anything stupid. And now I have miss Santiga next on my list. Lucky for me, I know just where she is." He sneered. "Will you warn her?"

Quatre was shaking. Shaking with rage and fear and sadness. His vision had dots in it again, and as much as he wanted to scream, he couldn't. He had to hold himself back. He may have been eight, but he knew better. Grinding his teeth, he glared back at Caldwell. "No." Calling to alert his sister Santiga would be a dangerous thing to do. She would, in turn, call the police, and once Caldwell came for her, the evil plot would be stopped, however seeing as Caldwell was the only one who knew where Adara was...

Even if it was to save one sister, Quatre could not risk his older sister's death, even if she was already on the brink of it. He had to be smarter than Caldwell, but all his panic was clouding his thoughts, and he wasn't quite sure if he was thinking straight anymore.

Upon Quatre's following silence, the man laughed and opened the door. "I'll see you again soon, Quatre." And then he was gone, leaving Quatre to stay frozen in the room, unable to summon any coherency to think out his plan further. All he could do was stagger, half-blind, to his room.

* * *

Caldwell didn't return for another two days. Quatre took that opportunity to do some research and make a few phone calls. He'd been inspired by stories and musicians found in the concert hall and desired greatly to learn more about them. The phone calls, however, were for a completely separate matter. Caldwell's cab driver had been more than helpful; Quatre may have been able to solve the case of his missing sister with just the cabby's business card. But before he could set his plan into full motion, Iria arrived home with a letter containing startling news.

"Quatre!"

It was the panic he was expecting, though he wasn't quite sure over which matter it would follow. Quatre put down his phone and turned to see Iria running into his room, waving the paper around, almost crazed.

"The news! Did you hear what happened??"

The expression on her face suggested it was something horrible, so Quatre braced himself with the best acting he knew. "What do you mean? What happened? Is it something bad?"

"Oh, it's horrible!" She was near tears. "Adara has gone missing!"

Quatre faked his most shocked expression he could manage. "What?? W-What do you mean?? Since when??"

"For just less than a week, but her husband is in hysterics over it! He received a ransom note in his mailbox!"

Now Quatre was genuinely shocked. "A... ransom note?" It made no sense. "What did it say?"

Iria was sobbing now, trying to hide it as best as she could in front of her poor little brother. "It said that if he wanted to see Adara alive again, he'd have ten million dollars wired to some strange bank account! The criminal also sent him pictures of Adara all... tied up and hurt!"

The boy's teal eyes were wide, owl-like, as he comprehended the situation. This wasn't right... Why was Caldwell doing all this if he already had the entire Winner fortune in the palm of his hands? Why would he need Adara's husband's private bank account as well? Greed, of course. It was the only reasonable explanation that he could think of. Quatre tried to remain focused on the conversation, though. "So... she is... hurt?"

"Yes, badly... I didn't see them myself, but her husband says she looks terrible!"

_'Be thankful you haven't seen them, Iria.'_ Quatre shut his eyes tightly as the memories flooded him; Adara, hurt, naked, starved, and beaten, laying tied up and in complete fear. Damn it all... Quatre had so surely assumed himself two steps ahead of Caldwell, but now the teacher was moving into check. Quatre was losing. More so than he thought.

"Quatre, that's not all..."

_'What else could there possibly be? Hasn't Caldwell screwed with us enough?'_ Quatre looked back up at his sister. She looked like she was trying to brace herself.

"Investigators looked over all the evidence thoroughly... and it all..." She swallowed. "It all points to Father."

Quatre forgot to breathe then. His eyes stopped moving as he stared indirectly at Iria. Everything was silent in the room. Quatre couldn't even hear himself breathe. After a few seconds, Iria took a step closer to her brother, but before she could say anything, Quatre collected himself. "They're... blaming... Dad? But... but why? It doesn't make any sense. Who in the hell would think a man would abduct and beat his own daughter? And for a ransom? Especially when he already has everything, including more money than all our families combined?" It should've been an outraged tone, but the child just couldn't seem to force his voice any louder. Iria knelt down in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, trying her hardest to reassure him.

"Quatre... It's gonna be fine. We all know Father didn't do it. It's just in the investigators' heads right now, but they'll see soon. They'll crack the case."

"No, they won't." Quatre let his face fall, though his eyes were still wide. Caldwell was thorough and careful. He'd never be caught at this rate. But what could Quatre do? He could no longer tell his father about Caldwell's actions, as he was probably locked up for questioning. Iria was too hysterical to help in any way... What could possibly be done?

Just then, the phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. His head shot up as he reached for his cordless, but Iria was quicker, snatching it up and pushing the talk button. Calming herself, she answered quietly. "Hello, Winner residence." She listened intently to the other end for a moment. "Yes, I heard... We're still in shock--" Then... her face went to horror just as quickly as it had been wiped from her face a moment ago. "N-No... What?? That's... You can't be serious! How??"

Quatre's stomach twisted into knots as he listened. And so suddenly, Iria was crying again, hanging up the phone and holding a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. The young boy beside her reached up to touch her arm comfortingly. "Iria?"

"Santiga..."

And once again, Quatre's world shattered. Iria didn't need to say anymore. Quatre knew... Santiga had been abducted as well, and was probably undergoing the same torture Caldwell had executed on Adara.

Santiga had been kidnapped... Adara also, and was near-death, if not already dead... Adara's husband was in an emotional and financial crisis... Iria was heartbroken... Their father was framed for these malicious acts... and in the center of it all...

...was eight-year-old Quatre Raberba Winner, heir to the endangered Winner fortune, student of the esteemed Vincent Caldwell, and the only person who could make this nonsense end.

* * *

CHAPTER 4 - End

AN: Caldwell's so mean, isn't he? He's the kinda guy that would kick a puppy if he saw one... I guess Quatre's the puppy this time. Poor puppy.

Despite how it may seem, the names I'm giving the sisters aren't random. I first thought "The Winners are Arabic" or so says online references. So I took a look in a baby names book I bought a while back and looked up Arabic names. Adara came up, so I used that. Then I saw the name Santiga from somewhere else, like on TV or in a book or a movie or something... I don't remember... and even though it was a name from India, it stuck with me, so I used that one as well. I think if I had to think up anymore names, the Winners would be one strangely-ethnic-crossed family. "Meet my daughters, Iria, Adara, Santiga, Maria, Tiffany, Julia, Setsuka, Xiang, Lateisha, Laquanda, Olga..." Lulz.

Review or Caldwell will come assrape you.


	5. Chapter 5

The Emperor and the Arsonist - Chapter 5  
Yosuke  
Rated-R  
Angst/Drama

AN: The end is near! Oh noes!

* * *

Sure enough, the next day, money started disappearing from the main Winner bank account. Supposedly, the only one who had direct access to that account was Mr. Winner himself, though he denied stealing money from his own vault. The media had caught wind of the whole mess and was publishing phony articles about how corrupt the Winner family was. Iria was swamped with the press every time she tried to step foot out of the house. And all the while, Quatre sat quietly up in his room, staring idly at his violin case. He'd made another phone call, the final one to secure his unsteady plan. That was, unless Caldwell decided to make another move on the chess board to secure his checkmate. But no, it wasn't over yet. Or maybe it was. Perhaps Quatre was delusional at this point, after watching three of his sisters suffer and his father's reputation torn to shreds... What was left to hold onto but his sanity? Maybe it wasn't even there anymore. His sanity had probably fled the first time Caldwell had raped him. The boy laughed to himself. Oh, what he wouldn't give to cease his family's suffering... He would've taken those beatings and sexual assaults a million more times if it meant that he didn't have to see Iria cry anymore.

Quatre picked up the phone, deciding he needed to make one more phone call. He dialed a number from a piece of paper on his nightstand, then listened intently as someone answered in a formal voice.

"My name is Quatre Winner. I would like to speak with my father please."

He was immediately patched through. "... Hello, son."

"Hi, Dad."

"How are you and Iria holding up?"

"So-so, I guess. You?"

"I've been better."

"Ah."

Silence...

"...Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"I know you didn't do it."

"Thank you, but that won't help my situation much. There's all this evidence piled against me, I'm just not sure how to clear myself--"

"No, I mean... I _know_ you didn't do it. I know who did." Quatre kept his words in check, though. He knew the call was being monitored by the police.

"You do?? How?? Who is it??"

"Dad, please don't think of me as cruel, but I can't tell you. Not yet. You'll know soon, though. The police can't do anymore damage to this family than _he_... or myself... already have. So you'll be safe there."

"Yourself? He? Who is he? What do you mean, Quatre??"

"I need to go, he'll be arriving soon. Bye, Dad. Take care of yourself."

And before his father could respond, Quatre hung up the phone. He needed to be quick now. The police would show up any minute. Quatre tossed his phone to the bed and walked from his room, heading downstairs just as the doorbell rang. Iria was walking towards the door, but Quatre beat her to it. Opening it up wide, the boy smiled up at the postal worker. He smiled back. "Hello, Mr. and Miss Winner. I have a package for you." The man lowered a box down to Quatre, who accepted it gratefully.

"Thank you, Jack."

"No problem, kiddo. Just sign this please. And careful, that package is marked 'Fragile'." Jack lowered a clipboard with a piece of paper on it down to Quatre's height. Using his free hand to sign the paper, he nodded quickly at their regular delivery man.

"I'll see you around."

"Same to you. Hope everything straightens itself out for you guys." Jack waved them goodbye and took off. Quatre shut the door behind him and started strolling back to his bedroom. Iria watched him carefully.

"What's in the box?"

"Violin stuff. I found this limited edition music stand and cleaning set in a catalogue, so I thought I'd order it while it was still in stock."

Iria seemed dumbfounded by her brother's carefree attitude. "Quatre... Is this really the best time?"

The boy smiled at her from over his shoulder. "I bought it two weeks ago, before all this happened. Besides, it'll help me keep my mind off everything. You should start focusing on other things as well. There isn't much we can do but hope, Iria. Trust me, the police will figure everything out." He started up the stairs again, but stopped short and quickly turned around. "Oh, and by the way, I called Mr. Caldwell and asked him to stop by. It's our final lesson and I figured we might as well get it out of the way before things get anymore chaotic around here. He should be showing up in about ten minutes, so could you please send him to the gardens? I wanna surprise you with my performance as a graduated violinist, so I don't want you to hear me practicing yet." And before she could respond, Quatre had disappeared upstairs with his box, leaving her to sulk in silent worry.

Once in his room, Quatre had begun to gather everything he needed for his "final lesson" with Caldwell. Of course, the man had no interest in further tutoring Quatre, but when the boy had called him earlier, pleading for him to return once more so that he could hand over a large sum of money to help pay Adara's way free, Caldwell just couldn't resist. Now with the teacher on his way over, and the student ready to end the suffering of his family, Quatre ripped open the package, put its contents together, and set them in a pouch. He slung it over his shoulder carefully, then gathered his violin case into his arms and headed back downstairs and outside into the gardens behind the mansion, where this whole mess started.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Quatre could hear footsteps approaching the fountain where he sat. He closed his eyes and smiled, lifting his violin to his shoulder and readying the bow. He hated the fountain now, and he knew it was unfair to hate such a beautiful, secluded area, but the memories were so painful. It was where he had first been threatened, where he first discovered how horrible a creature Caldwell really was... where he had lost his virginity unwillingly, where he had first been brutally abused and cut open... Thankfully, the bloodstains on the grass were gone, but somehow he could still see them. And if he looked at the sky, he would remember the feeling of lying so helplessly on the grass while that evil man did whatever he wanted. He could remember the taste of blood in his mouth, and the feeling of cold fingers on his ankle. He remembered the warm air against his nude skin, and the deep, horrible, excruciating penetration. It also made him think of the dirty bath water, how it turned pink after just a few seconds. He remembered the sore spots on his scalp where hair had been ripped out. But most of all, he remembered the pain of his family; his sister Adara, hurt, bruised, naked and crying, tied up and left filthy and starving while her husband could do nothing but search and pray. There was also Santiga, abducted as well and probably treated the same. And then there was Iria, whom Quatre had heard cry herself to sleep the night before, leaving her lethargic and miserable that morning at breakfast, hardly even able to force out a "Good morning" to her younger brother. And then above all else, there was his dad. Their father had been pinned for these crimes, accused and left to sleep in prison until the police made a new discovery, though everyone knew it wasn't at the top of their priority list; They had the main suspect, who was already a sketchy character to them based solely on the fact that he was a diplomat. Why would they want to hunt for anyone else if all the evidence was pointing straight at the head of the Winner family?

Quatre exhaled softly as he started playing his violin, trying to let the music wash away all the horrible thoughts. It would all be fixed soon. No more crying... no more pain... no more crooked accusations...

Caldwell stepped into the clearing.

The boy continued to play his instrument, clear and undisturbed, letting the music waft into the air to settle any worries. Caldwell watched him warily.

"You called me over."

"Yes," Quatre answered, never opening his eyes, never ceasing the music.

"You said you had money for me."

"Yes, I said that."

"Where is it?"

"Do you know who Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus was?" the student asked quietly while the music changed carefully over from _Pachabel's Canon_ to _Adagio_. Caldwell quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm not familiar with the name."

"Most people aren't, unless you're a historian. He also went by the name of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Most knew him as Nero. He was a Roman emperor, the final one of the Julio-Cladian Dynasty. I read all about him when we visited that concert hall." Quatre added a caesura between two phrases of the song, then continued playing, finally opening his eyes to look up at Caldwell, who stared at him with a mixed look of confusion and frustration. "Nero is most renowned for the supposed legend of his actions during the Great Fire of Rome. People make such a fuss over it, even though there is the very real possibility that it wasn't true. They say while the city of Rome burned to the ground, while buildings fell and people died, Nero sat above the flames and played a fiddle with the most carefree attitude. Of course, part of that story is most definitely not true, as the fiddle hadn't even been invented yet. Some say it was a lyre, instead. Others say he sang _The Sack of Illium_ in a stage costume."

Though he wasn't finished with the song yet, Quatre changed over to _Ave Maria_, setting a solemn mood for his story.

"Other legends say Nero helped to stop the fire and shelter the victims while the city was rebuilt. And still, others say it was Nero who started the fire in the first place, so to save himself from being accused, Nero told everyone it was the Christians' faults, thus the Christians were tortured and destroyed." Quatre brought the music level down to pianissimo as he watched his teacher. "Which do you believe, Mr. Caldwell?"

The man obviously had no interest in the seemingly irrelevant story, and scowled. "I came here for money, not for a bedtime story."

Quatre chuckled. "Oh, funny. How quick-witted you are. Perhaps this conversation is too above your standards. Well, if you're so opposed to answering, please allow me to offer _my_ insight. I think you might find it quite interesting."

The blonde began another song, a violin version to _Sarabande_. "It seems to me that the story makes the most sense where Nero was wrongfully accused of starting the fire. While he'd done everything in his power to help the homeless and starving after the city had burnt, someone still had the gall to point the finger at him. I understand it was probably out of fear and the need to find _someone_ to take the blame rather than let yourself be scared by the fact that the real arsonist could be anywhere, planning to strike again, but it was still unfair to place such horrible and wrongful accusations on someone else, someone who'd done nothing to hurt anyone. So to save himself, he had to divert their attention, let someone else take the fall. And so, other innocent people suffered.

"However, even though other people were destroyed because of his selfishness, Nero also worked to save the people of his city. That fire had been started somehow, and he had to keep the aftermath from becoming too serious. So he tried to prevent severe chaos of the aftermath. Overall, he was just trying to prevent the actual aftermath, though he could do nothing about the damage that was already done.

"Perhaps none of that is true. Perhaps Nero really sat on the building tops, like the Fiddler on the Roof, and played a song while everyone died. Maybe he was insane, and enjoyed the bright light of the burning city. Maybe the music made him so happy, he'd been too deafened by it to hear his people cry for help. Maybe he was just as guilty as the arsonist."

Quatre stopped playing as he finally saw the look on Caldwell's face he had been hoping for. Caldwell understood the story's meaning and the underlying message. He smirked a little. "So I'm the arsonist then? Very good then, as you have every reason to blame yourself just as much."

Quatre shook his head. "I only said _maybe_. The emperor can only watch his city burn for so long before he's forced to do something else with his time. I can't just walk away and pretend like nothing happened here, but I also can't sit and blame some other person for the damage to make myself look innocent. The Christians were innocent victims, just like my father. I will not let him be persecuted."

"So you're going to bring the real arsonist to light?" Caldwell said jokingly, though Quatre shook his head.

"It's not that easy. Just as no one liked the Christians, no one likes my father right now. They'll just so easily accept that he did it. So maybe it would be easier to sit aside and play the violin while the damage continues."

"Like a good boy," the man commented, smiling. "It's rather sad, though, that you make yourself out to be an emperor when you're just a tiny, insignificant child. Who would believe you?"

"Plenty would," Quatre chided. "It's all a matter of whether I'm willing to speak up or not. I enjoy my music. Why ruin it with chatter?" The student smiled and continued playing the song. "However, it's not really what I'm concerned with. Perhaps it would be wrong to bring you to light. After all, maybe you're not the arsonist."

Caldwell seemed confused. "I'm not?"

"This is my true insight, my true opinion. This is what I really believed happened." Quatre closed his eyes as the song reached its ending. "I believe... that Nero started that fire, that the emperor was the arsonist." The bow thrummed with such a lovely noise as it played along the thicker strings, causing a deeper sound. "Nero, in all his mindless, everyday, prosaic activities, sought out excitement, something to distract him from his current worries, and unknowingly threw himself into a bad situation. He allowed the fire to start. Whether or not he held the match doesn't matter. The point is he was there to see the spark ignite and did nothing to stop it. The fire blazed, and Nero smiled because it was a distraction." Quatre looked back up at Caldwell. "I never once thought of my father while you were here. I had been so worried that he wouldn't return safely, but the moment you told me you wanted our money, in the back of my mind, I was a little grateful. It was a distraction, something to keep my mind off my father's safety. And while it put others in danger, such as my sisters, I cared not for what happened to myself in the end. I had been too stupid to try and stop the fire once it started, and it eventually got out of control. Now people have been sacrificed..."

Quatre drew the bow along the final strings, hitting the last note. He lowered the instrument slowly, watching his teacher the whole time. Once he set them on the stone fountain beside him, he reached to the pouch he had carried out with him. Once his hand was inside it, Caldwell grew more alert. Quatre smiled.

"But as the emperor, I cannot let my people die anymore. It's time for the aftermath to begin, but first, I need to put out the fire."

Quatre drew out the small handgun, the one he'd just received in the mail that day. Already loaded and cocked, Quatre lifted the weapon slowly, aimed, and fired. The shot rang out like a canon blast, and Caldwell's shoulder jerked visibly. Grunting in pain, the man clutched at his damaged shoulder, then pulled his hand away to see the blood. He stared in absolute shock at the boy. Sad teal eyes greeted him back.

"Once the fire is out, the survivors must be salvaged. Adara and Santiga have been rescued. I just got the call today. I talked to Mr. Gevassi, your cab driver. He drives you everywhere, both you and your luggage. He had seemed suspicious when you came out one day with a rather large duffel bag. I asked him where it had been taken to and through some investigation of my own, I realized exactly where they were. I feel so stupid for having missed it, it seemed like such an obvious clue. They were below the concert hall the whole time, deep in a forgotten basement." Quatre shook his head in regret. "To think she was so close this whole time... Adara didn't have to suffer like that. But the stupid emperor overlooked the obvious and let the fire continue. She's alive, though. Both her and Santiga, and they will be testifying against you. Or, they _would_... but I'm sorry to say that's a judgment you don't get to see." Quatre fired the gun again, this time at Caldwell's other shoulder. The man howled in pain, then attempted to charge his student, his face red with fury and pain. Quatre fired once more, this time square between Caldwell's eyes. It was such a close-range shot that his forehead exploded, blood and brains splattering everywhere. His red eyes rolled back into his head as he collapsed forward, mid-stride. His skull cracked against the cement, and blood began to pool around his twitching body.

Quatre watched what he had done. The man, once his teacher and his enemy, now lay lifeless at his feet. The gun shook in his hand... or was it his hand that was shaking? Quatre blinked slowly as he lowered the weapon and continued to watch Caldwell's unmoving body. What surprised him the most, though, was that there wasn't a single feeling of remorse, guilt, shock, or pain at what he had just committed. He wasn't sad. How strange... It had felt so natural, so right to kill him. Was Quatre so capable of killing? It had been so easy to pull the trigger on a man who deserved to die... Why couldn't he cry? Why couldn't he feel just a little bit bad about taking someone else's life?

...Perhaps it was because he was the emperor. The fire had been stopped... Why be sad about that? What he needed to be sad over was the damage that had been done. There would be no aftermath to the fire... There would only be an aftermath to stopping the fire. Quatre could already hear footsteps approaching the thicket of the garden. He closed his eyes and exhaled, hardly even realizing that he had been holding his breath. With seemingly little movement, he put the gun down and picked his violin back up, replaying the final verse to _Ave Maria_.

Iria emerged from the bush pathway, calling Quatre's name, panicked. The scene that greeted her was not what she had been expecting. On the floor before the fountain lay Caldwell, on his stomach with blood staining the ground around his head and shoulders. Small, bloody chunks of something lay around him. And on the fountain edge sat Quatre, playing his violin as if nothing had happened. His eyes found Iria's and he smiled. "I stopped the fire, Iria. The Christians are innocent and the emperor is to blame. Rebuild the city and nurse the injured back to health."

The words seemed to fly in one ear and out the other. Iria was too distracted by the dead body on the ground. Her mouth gaped, opening and closing slightly as if trying to form words. Tears bled up into her eyes. "Q...Quatre... What happened...? I.... I heard gunshots..."

"Caldwell took the money," Quatre said quietly as he lowered his instrument, ceasing the music. "Just a couple weeks after he came here, he began threatening me for my account numbers. He kept saying he'd hurt you, rape you, kill you... So I gave him the information to access the bank accounts, but you had changed them by that time. Finally I got my hands on the new ones and gave them to him in exchange for Adara's safety, but he didn't free her."

Iria's trembling eyes never left Quatre's. "Caldwell... took Adara?"

"And Santiga. He also left the ransom note for Adara's husband and planted the evidence to point in Dad's direction. Caldwell took the money. All this time, he's been beating me, cutting me, raping me, calling me out at ungodly hours of the night to abuse me a little bit more... I couldn't tell you... I couldn't tell anyone, or else you'd all be involved, and he would kill you the moment he found out. He almost did so to Adara... I was planning on leaving Dad a note after I killed myself to escape the torture, but once Adara was involved, I couldn't just run away anymore. I had to give him the information."

The eight-year-old slid off of the fountain, reaching for his gun and holding it tightly.

"Iria, I've brought chaos to this family. I ruined the fortunes and tarnished our names. Adara and Santiga were hurt because of me, and Dad's sleeping in prison because of me, and you cried so much because of me." Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. His whole body began to shake. Finally, the aftermath... "I'm so sorry!" He fell to his knees, sobbing his little heart out. Finally, finally it was okay to be the child, to be the helpless little kid he should've been from the start. No more acting like an adult. He was eight-years-old again. He was just a vulnerable little boy. "I'm so sorry, Iria! It's all my fault! Everything happened because of me! We all suffered because of me! Please forgive me, Iria! I'm a horrible son and a horrible brother! Please, please forgive me! I'm so sorry!" Quatre's trembling hand lifted the gun up, pointing it under his own chin. "What should I do, Iria? Is this the only way now? I don't want to die, but if I have to, for you, for all of you..."

A gentle hand touched his, and Quatre looked up to see Iria before him, kneeling down and lowering the gun from his head. She stroked her hands soothingly down the sides of his face, her gaze holding concern and sadness. "Quatre, I don't understand everything you just said, but I will, I promise. The police are going to come, and they're going to want to know what happened. I'll talk to them, and once we've both explained everything, it'll all be alright." Her fingers brushed through his hair, then wiped away his tears. Quatre stifled his sobbing a little to listen. Iria couldn't even force a smile. "Father will be released from jail, I know he will. I believe you when you say Caldwell did it, it all makes sense. It's just going to take a little convincing on the investigators' part. But I swear we'll get through this. Quatre..." She touched her forehead to his. "I'm a little scared right now, Quatre, but I'm mostly sad. I had no idea. I wish I'd known, I wish I'd have picked up your clues. It should've been so obvious. I'm so sorry, Quatre. You shouldn't have had to go through all this alone, but everything that happened... it pushed you so far that you were forced to kill someone. I'm so sorry I couldn't help you fix things... But you did an amazing job, Quatre."

Quatre seemed surprised.

"I'm very proud of you. I don't like that you've been driven to such extreme measures of self-defense, but I am proud that you handled everything yourself, by yourself, like an adult. And I know, when Father hears about all this, he's going to be more proud of you than anyone else."

At this, Quatre once again burst into tears. Sobbing childishly, he clung to Iria when she wrapped her arms around him to embrace him tightly. She cried with him, relief that the fire was finally over, as the police sirens drew closer.

* * *

It was the first time he had been treated like a real eight-year-old... and he didn't like it. Quatre grumbled quietly as he walked to the waiting limousine. The driver was already outside, holding the door open for the boy and his sister. Iria looked down at him, smiling a little. "Calm down, Quatre."

"I swear, if they had called me 'kiddo' once more, I was gonna kick 'em in the shins," the child ranted as he waited for Iria to climb all the way into her seat. Quatre glanced up at the driver. "Thank you, Mr. Gevassi."

Gevassi shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr. Winner."

"Quatre, please."

"Quatre... Getting a job like this has to be the best move I've made my whole career as a driver. I only wished it could've happened sooner... I feel so horrible about helping out that man. Had I know there was a poor girl in that bag..."

"Mr. Gevassi, don't." Quatre tapped his hand lightly. "You don't need to be the least bit apologetic. Because of your testimony, Caldwell was found absolutely guilty. I'm sorry about your cab getting confiscated, but at least I could get you a new one."

"Yeah, a fantastic, shiny new limo." Gevassi laughed and patted the roof of the car, then smiled kindly at his new employer. "I'm certainly glad I could help you, Quatre. And I'm very happy your family's name is clear. Plus your sisters are alright and you got your money back. By the way, was this the last court date?"

"No, there's one more. The judge has to decide what to do with me now, since I murdered Caldwell 'n all." Quatre climbed up into the seat beside his sister, and Gevassi shut the door behind him, then quickly climbed into his driver's seat. Out of a blossoming habit, the man sighed intently at the feel of the suede seating cushioning against him comfortably.

"Well, Quatre... Miss Iria... would you like to go see your sisters now? Last I heard, they were still at the hospital."

"Oh, yes please," Iria answered and smiled kindly. Gevassi looked at her in his rear-view mirror, blushed a little, then nodded. Quatre noted this... and chuckled, which earned him a teasing nudge from his sister. "Enough with the cracks, Quatre. I get it."

"You know, Mr. Gevassi, Iria's favorite flowers are lilies," the boy called up. This, in turn, caused Gevassi to stammer.

"R-Really? I-I mean... That's fascinating, Quatre."

"Yup, I know. Aaaand, her birthday's coming up next week."

"Quatre!" Iria smacked his arm, eliciting a laugh from her sibling. Gevassi seemed startled as the limo pulled out of the courthouse parking lot.

"W-W-Well... I'm sure it would be nice if she received lilies on her birthday."

"Yeah, but gosh... I already got her something... I think lilies would be too much coming from me. If only there was someone else..."

"Quatre, I swear I'm going to give you a spanking when we get home!" Iria pinched his ear between her fingers and pulled a little, causing him to yelp, though in the end he broke out into laughter.

"You know, my concert was going to be next week," the boy added lightly, settling back into his seat. Iria looked at him, surprised.

"A concert?"

"I auditioned about two weeks ago to join the music troupe at the college. I got accepted, but since all this stuff happened, what with me killing a guy and all... they cancelled my sign-up. They said it was too much drama for them and that it would blemish their reputation." Quatre sighed as he tapped his shoes together with a disappointed look on his face. "My debut concert with the troupe was next week and I got fired. I was really looking forward to performing publicly, too."

"Oh, Quatre, I'm so sorry." Iria touched his arm, trying to think of something comforting to say or do, though nothing came to mind right away. "I know how much the violin means to you..."

"You know, I don't think I actually like the violin anymore," Quatre said quietly, looking up at her with indifference in his eyes. This startled Iria, but he continued before she could question him. "I spent several weeks dreading any time with Caldwell, and each visit to torture me was covered up with 'violin lessons'. I did practice, and he did teach me, yes, but I somehow... just knew that because I had wanted that violin so badly, I was the reason Caldwell came into our lives. If I had wanted piano lessons, or cello or flute or even percussion lessons, Dad wouldn't have found Caldwell, and I never would have had those lessons. I can't help it, but now I associate the violin with that man, and it makes me uneasy, even scared... that if I play, he'll just jump out from behind the nearest door and attack me again." Quatre shrugged, blushing a little. "It's stupid, I know, and I'm sorry, but Caldwell was there when I bought that violin... It was the first time I had been scared of him. I was playing that violin just before he first attacked me, and I was playing it just before I killed him. I think I'm just associating it with my fear, doubt, and guilt... but still... it makes me scared and worried. Is that bad?"

Iria rarely got to see her brother like this, so honest and vulnerable. It made her sad, and she wanted nothing more than to cheer him up, but with said rarity, she wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Finally, she touched her hand to his forehead and smiled. "My little brother is so cute when he acts like a little brother."

Quatre blinked in surprise.

"I can understand why you'd be scared to hold the violin, or play it, but you shouldn't. Why associate such awful thoughts with such a beautiful thing? The violin did nothing wrong, just as you did nothing wrong. Instead of worrying about playing it, why not be happy to play it? You bought it to suppress the danger in your mind, you played it just before you took on mature responsibilities, and you played it just before you rescued your entire family from absolute ruin. I'm happy when I think about you playing the violin, because I know that not only are you the best young violinist I've ever heard, you're also the toughest and most impressive." Iria brushed the bangs out of his face. "You endured everything, _everything_, by yourself. You took beatings and horrid abuse, verbal and physical, you protected your family's wealth and safety, you cleared Father's name, you rescued two of your sisters from Death's door, you found out the bank account information all on your own, you hid all of this from everyone for several weeks... and somehow managed to learn everything between the B-flat scale to _Flight of the Bumblebee_. I'd say that's rather impressive, Quatre."

He took in Iria's warm smile, then smiled back on his own before nudging her side with a sour look on his face. "Throw TEN Caldwells at me, I still could've learned that song easy peasy." He _harumphed_ and settled back into his seat, his sister laughing at him.

"I used to think you were growing up too fast, Quatre, but still not fast enough. And I still can't make up my mind. Are you a young adult or an old child?"

"I'm _eight_."

"What about inside?"

Quatre glanced back up at his sister. "What do you mean?"

"Anyone could look at you and say 'Oh, he's just a little kid'. But what do you think they'd say once they sat down with you and had a conversation about the economy?"

"Pfft... They'd just shake their heads at me. No one ever agrees with me. The government keeps sending too much money to the rich districts so that they can keep up their 'research' when we all know they're just gearing up for another war. Once senators and ambassadors start getting killed off, our great and mighty OZ will start crying like babies and sending soldiers down to earth to kill off anyone they think is responsible. That money should be going to defense groups on equal sides, and if they decide to put that tax cut through, our cities _might_ stand a chance once this war inevitably starts--"

Iria's mocking smile finally shut Quatre up. He pursed his lips together before nodding.

"Oh... I see what you mean now..."

His sister giggled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against her. "I'm so proud of you, Quatre. Father is, too. You did everything. You're so amazing."

The car eventually pulled up to the hospital, and to Quatre's amazement, the first person he saw there was his father. In the lobby, holding his coat and waiting unattended, was the head of the Winner family. Upon seeing his son and daughter, the man smiled and knelt down on one knee, holding his arms open. It was instinctive, and Quatre went running to his father, hooking his arms around his neck and hugging tightly. "Dad! You're here!"

"Well, I figured I should see you sometime _outside_ of a courtroom," the man laughed and hugged his son back. "And don't worry, I'm coming back for your final court appearance."

"Thanks, Dad." Quatre pulled away and smiled up at him, unmistakable happiness glittering in his teal eyes.

Their father smiled back, then stood and looked at his daughter. "Iria... It's so nice to see you safe."

"Yeah... Quite a scare with Adara and Santiga, huh? How are they doing now?"

"Pretty good. Adara couldn't talk for a while, but she's doing good now. Both of their cuts and bruises have healed quite nicely."

At the reminder, Quatre's smile faded, and he shuffled back a few steps, threading his fingers together in shame. His father noticed and approached him, putting a hand on his head.

"Quatre... You saved them. You saved their lives. You saved me. You saved everyone. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

The boy didn't look up at him right away. "But I started the fire..."

"... You started a fire? Where? Oh, for godsake, Quatre, if our rose garden is burnt down--"

"No, I mean..." Quatre finally peeked up at him. "This whole mess... It was my fault. I shouldn't have had those lessons... I should have turned Caldwell away."

Their father knelt down again, sliding his hand onto Quatre's shoulder. "Quatre, there was no way you could have known. It's not your fault."

"But... aren't you ashamed of me? Of what I've become?" Large teal eyes gazed at him, shaking as tears started to build. "Dad... I so easily handed over our money--"

"To save your sisters," his father cut in.

"I've been beaten and cut--"

"To divert attention from Iria."

"Dad... I've been..." His voice grew quiet as he suddenly felt so much smaller. "I've been... raped..."

"Caldwell was three times your size, Quatre. I doubt there was much you could do."

Quatre was surprised by this. "You're not... disgusted with me?"

"Why should I be? It wasn't your fault." His large hands held Quatre's head carefully. "I'm not ashamed, Quatre. You're just a child, and I'm infuriated that Caldwell did anything of the sort to you. It should never happen to anyone, let alone a defenseless eight-year-old. I'll do whatever I can for you to help you feel better, but I'm sad to say that it's all I can do... Now, if Caldwell were still here, despite what the courts say, I would beat that son of a bitch into a pulp myself--"

"Dad," Quatre stopped him before he got too out-of-hand. His father cleared his throat and apologized, but Quatre continued. "That's another thing, Dad. I'm a murderer now. I killed someone."

"Someone who deserved to die, Quatre. You did the right thing." He hugged him once more. "You're only eight, and you took the whole situation into your own hands. You kept everything in line, kept Iria from being hurt, you saved Adara and Santiga's lives, and you kept a very mature attitude the whole time. I couldn't be more proud of you."

Quatre closed his eyes as he rested against his father's body. This was what he had wanted. This was what he had missed. He had been so strong for so long. Now he could finally be weak and helpless again, just like children were meant to be. Quatre Raberba Winner was a child again, relying on his father's strength, feeling safe in the company of his family. His sisters were alive, and Caldwell was dead. Life could be normal again.

Maybe now he could stop playing the role of the emperor, forget his role as the arsonist, and finally start being the happy son once again.

* * *

Ze end.

* * *

AN: omfg... it's done... please kill me now...

I started this a loooong time ago, got writer's block, then continued. It turned out to be one of my favorite pieces. I had to do a hell of a lot of research on Nero and classical music, but I think I was pretty accurate on most stuff. I just ask, please PLEASE don't correct me on anything pertaining to Nero. The music, sure, go ahead, but not Nero. Honestly, this is the first and last time I intend to use any Nero references in anything, so I don't really care if I followed the legends 100%. I'm not a historian, so I'm not picky about it. Don't waste your time leaving a review that only goes on about how stupid I am when it comes to Greek history. Just review about the story, that's it.

As you may or may not have noticed, despite how this was an AU, I also tried to make it seem like a prologue to the Gundam Wing series. Like before the characters were formally introduced. It isn't really, I know, but nonetheless, I tried to keep them IC in as many ways as I could. The main thing I focused on was Quatre's pride and fearlessness of death. The Gundam pilots were not afraid to die, were not afraid to kill... Quatre, in this story, so easily accepted the idea of death, be it his own or Caldwell's, like it was all part of his duty in life. However, the idea of innocent people getting killed absolutely tortured him. Visions of Iria's death physically hurt his heart, much like in the anime series when Heero almost died (once out of two thousand times). So, though I may have sacrificed other aspects of Quatre to keep IC, I feel I did alright on his views of life and death.

It's always hard for me to end a story on a good clincher. I kept thinking "The story was so long and focused so much on all the terrible times. Shouldn't I try to end it with a few more happy scenes?" But in all honesty, that would've been another whole chapter, and it'd be full of nothing but filler. "Life goes on, blah blah blah, Quatre lived happily ever after." So I'm sorry if it seemed I ended on such a fast note, but there wasn't much more I could do that was interesting.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was "The Emperor and the Arsonist". Get the meaning behind the title now? X3

Emperor Yosuke commands thee to leave a review in the style of a haiku. Do it now. (clapclap).


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